Bad Thangs
by kendrawriter33
Summary: While Rick and Michonne put the pieces back together after the walker herd, they're forced to stand still and admit exactly what they both want: Each other. In as many ways, on as many surfaces, in as many positions as they can get each other. And they'll need each other, like never before. War is coming. Old friends rediscovered. New alliances forged. Richonne romance/smut
1. ask me

_i don't know who you think you are_

 _but before the night is through_

 _i wanna do bad things with you_

-Chase Everett, Bad Things

* * *

 **I.**

"Michonne, you ready yet?"

"Give me a minute!" Michonne called back in response to Rick's slightly impatient tone coming from the foot of the stairs. She was in her bedroom, trying to finish getting dressed for the...party? Gathering? Fancy meeting? Michonne had no idea what to call the evening Maggie had planned for the surviving residents of Alexandria. All she knew was that she'd been roped into "co-hosting" with Maggie, Glenn and Spencer at the Monroe house.

When they had finally managed to drive the massive walker herd away, they spent the last few weeks rebuilding and fortifying the walls and cleaning up the horrendous mess all of it had made. Their losses had been great, but they still had plenty to be thankful for. At least, that's how Maggie and Glenn saw it. But losing Deana meant they were leaderless, a subject that had everyone in "town" on edge over the last few weeks.

Fact was, there were a lot less original Alexandrians now, and that did little to quell their paranoia about Rick and the possibility that he'd step in and take over the place. By force, some feared. Maggie had taken it upon herself to try to pick up the pieces and put it all back together again. Michonne had been the first one she'd asked for help. Despite her lingering sadness over Deana (sadness she hadn't expected to run quite this deeply for a woman she barely knew), Michonne had agreed to help get everyone on board with this…thing. Whatever it was. A friendly coup?

Rick's attitude wasn't helping.

For his part, he treated it all as a bit of a show...something he didn't want to be directly a part of, because Michonne knew somewhere in the back of his mind he still considered it an "us and them" situation. Sometimes she thought he was biding his time as he concentrated on fortifying the perimeter, the guard posts, the gates, anything and everything that a walker or dangerous party like the Wolves could slip through. Sometimes she thought he was exasperated by her diplomatic mindset. She barely saw him physically these days, but she could always see his handiwork: he had 'our people' training 'their people' to fight, or use whatever skills they could to help fix the giant mess the herd had made of the place, and he spent all his down time with Carl and Judith.

Or...at the Anderson home, checking in on the woman who could now count her losses as one asshole husband and one troubled older son. Michonne felt bad for Jessie. Truly bad. Ron was a little shit, but she would have spared him the way he died if she could've. The pain of losing a child was not something she wished on anyone, not even her worst enemy. That shit is a hurt like no other. She knew what Jessie was going through.

So she felt bad. Michonne tried again to bring the zipper on the back of the dress up past the bottom of her shoulder blades. She felt bad for Jessie, but she was starting to wonder when the stoic blonde was going to start pulling her weight. And at the same time she felt bad about feeling _that_. Fuck.

All this while Michonne, Glenn, Daryl and Spencer delegated or went on runs, talked to people about what they wanted the future of the place to be, and planned this...party thing.

Michonne rolled her eyes at herself and dropped her hands from fiddling with her zipper, unable to get it to go all the way up to the nape of her neck. It irritated her no end that she'd managed to master unsheathing her katana from behind so that she could do it in her sleep, but she couldn't get a damn zipper on a too-small dress to go all the way up. She was anxious and irritated and she didn't understand exactly why.

Ever since Deanna's last words to her, Michonne had been feeling this way. Too many emotions. Not enough time to just _think_. What did she want…?

"Need some help?" A deep tenor voice, coated in a Southern twang, interrupted her tense thoughts. She turned to find Rick standing in her doorway, staring at her. She had been so lost in her anxiousness about tonight that she'd forgotten about him and Carl waiting for her downstairs with Judith. She was a hostess tonight, and she was the last one ready; the house was empty but for them. Everyone else had gone off to the party thing already.

Michonne was momentarily distracted by her annoyance with herself, but then her eyes took in the full picture of Rick, leaning against her door frame, dressed for the party. Her heart quickened just a bit and she felt tingly warmth spreading through her sex at the sight of him. Damn, he cleaned up nice. He was dressed in his tight black jeans and those same brown boots he always wore, but he had showered and combed his hair back. He was wearing a dark green and navy plaid button down shirt and a black tie she'd never seen on him before. His skin, still adorned with a thin layer of salt and pepper scruff, was clean and tinged with pink from the hot shower. His cerulean eyes glistened under her bedroom lights, and his lips were pink, plump. He was smirking at her, his eyes flickering up and down with thinly veiled appreciation, before he scratched his chin and gestured to her dress.

"Your zipper stuck?" He tried again, taking a step into the room. He had this way of sort of leaning on air, peering over at her, waiting for her to speak.

Michonne swallowed and straightened her posture under his perpetually intense gaze. Every look he ever gave her since the day they first clapped eyes on each other made her feel like she was being caught in moonstone tractor beams. She found her voice and nodded, trying not to glare at him. He looked good, but she was annoyed with him, too.

"Yeah. Sorry, I know we're late."

He shrugged and gave a half-hearted shake of his head, taking two long strides toward her, eyeing her back as he headed to help her with the zipper. She noticed his eyes flicker again to her ass, and she fought hard not to roll hers as she turned around fully to let him help her.

He always checked her out, and most of the time she didn't mind it (maybe even thought it was kinda cute) but these days it just kinda pissed her off.

He always checked her out, but he never did anything about it.

When his warm fingers touched her skin, tugging on the zipper to get it up, she fought off a shiver. That's just how it was with Rick. Without even realizing it, she had simply grown used to feeling some type of way whenever he looked at or touched her. She had adapted, though, learning to push her body's natural reaction to him aside. They always had bigger fish to fry, especially out there on the road with an infant, no food and no water. She had gotten so good at ignoring it that eventually it just became part of a collection of facts about Rick: He was a charismatic, attractive man. Just like he was also five-eleven, blue-eyed and bow-legged. And on occasion, when he had to be, he was a killer.

Only sometimes did his good looks, intense eyes, and slow drawl get to her enough to distract her.

She was an easy target tonight.

"Don't worry about it," he said now, so close to her that his breath caressed her skin. She could feel the ghost of the heat from his shower wafting off of him. "When they see you in this dress, they'll forgive you."

Michonne pushed out a bemused scoff, actually rolling her eyes now. "This dress is too damn small. I don't know what Maggie was thinking."

Rick smiled, focusing on the zipper, but wanting to move in even closer. She _did_ look amazing in this dress. And she smelled divine. He thought maybe Maggie was being smart. He stopped fooling himself as he gave a firm but gentle tug and got the zipper to move slowly upward. He had been pushing an ever-growing attraction to Michonne to the back of his mind for months. He was mesmerized by her smooth, chocolate brown skin, tucked inside this jet black fabric, as he slowly closed it off from his view with the silver zipper. He felt himself twitch and stiffen against his snug jeans, so he finished the job and stepped back.

"You look good, Michonne." He offered, hoping she wouldn't hear the note of huskiness in his voice. She hadn't turned around to face him again, and he bit his lip, wondering if she'd heard him.

"Thanks..." she said softly over her shoulder, doing a little shimmy to get the dress to fit her better, tugging at the too-short A-line garment to get it as low on her legs as she could. Even under the skirt of the dress, he could make out the curve of her round bottom. Damn.

And she had long, shapely legs. They were bare tonight. Dark, smooth, rich brown, and she must have used that body butter stuff he'd watched her make once after her shower, because her skin had a gorgeous glow to it and it smelled like coconut oil. Rick swallowed hard, now not wishing for her to turn around, enjoying being able to let his eyes drink their fill of her without anyone looking.

The way she looked, she wasn't doing him any favors. He'd been feeling unenthusiastic about this get-together tonight, to put it gently, but all that went away as soon as he saw her in this dress.

He would take a couple of hours of uncomfortable small talk for the sight of Michonne gliding around in this thing. It was jet black and strappy, with a full skirt that still seemed to hug all her curves. It was so rare for them to be able to really get cleaned up, smell nice, and dress like they had somewhere to be. He loved the way Michonne looked when she was fighting-so powerful and focused. Her body was amazing, nimble, graceful and _strong_.

But he _very much liked_ this slinky, sexy version of her, too.

Rick was looking forward to being close to her again, especially like this, and especially after what felt like forever of them being off on their own, taking care of shit that needed taking care of around Alexandria. Even when they were home, they seemed to be on opposite schedules, juggling taking care of Judith with Carol and Carl. Rick getting up at the crack of dawn to go to work on the walls or her coming home to sleep after her runs on the weekends with Glenn or Daryl. They barely seemed to have time to do anything more than a quick update on their comings and goings and maybe some light problem-solving every couple of days or so.

Rick pushed all that out of his mind, getting exhausted just thinking about it. Tonight he was clean, a lot had gotten done, and they were as safe as they could be. He felt maybe he could relax a little bit.

He just wished Michonne would do the same.

He leaned against the dresser near the door, crossing his arms and watching Michonne walk back and forth, gathering things to finish getting dressed. He couldn't help but notice that she was avoiding looking at him, instead casting her eyes downward as she collected her shoes and fixed her hair (she was wearing it loose tonight, hiding her face behind it...uncharacteristic of her, but also damned sexy).

He sat up straighter, caught off guard when she came towards him and held out her hand, dropping her shoes to the floor in front of her. She hadn't caught him staring because she refused to look at him. He took her hand and allowed her to use him to balance herself as she slipped on the shoes. Rick paused to enjoy the moment, feeling something faintly like _deja vu_ come over him. He could picture Lori doing exactly the same thing. Hell, maybe she had once or twice. That life seemed too far off to tell what was real and what was his imagination anymore. He focused on the present.

When she was done, Michonne turned to leave the room, muttering "Okay, ready."

He didn't let her escape so easy, holding fast to her hand and forcing her to turn and face him finally. "Hey. Michonne." Rick tilted his head, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb, and she angled her eyes at him but didn't lift hers. Her depriving him of the full view of her face was starting to bother him. He had found it sexy a moment ago, but now it kinda hurt. He hadn't been able to talk to her, _really talk to her_ like they used to, in a while. Maybe the last time was before the church tower fell and the walkers got in. "What is it?"

Michonne straightened up and let go of his hand to slip on her light jacket. "Nothing. We're late, Maggie's gonna kill me."

Rick nodded, standing up straight too and following her out into the hall without another word. He knew there was something else bothering her, but she was right. They were late, and even though that dress looked damned good on her, he also knew that they were holding things up. So he sighed as they descended the stairs and greeted Carl, who was holding Judith at the landing.

"About time," Carl muttered, patting a fidgeting Judith lightly on the back. "She's gettin' fussy. We should give her some juice or something when we get there."

Michonne smiled for the first time that night, Rick noticed, as she straightened Carl's tie and kissed Judith on the head. He never tired of seeing her with his kids. She was so good with them. It just seemed to come naturally to her, and he was grateful. Sometimes so grateful that he had to take a step back and swallow down a confession in his throat. Sometimes he wanted to tell her exactly what it meant to him, seeing her with them, but he opted to just show her by giving her his complete trust with them. Michonne was good at reading him. Or at least she used to be. He straightened his own tie and tore his eyes away from her to retrieve his jacket.

"You look great. I like that dress Maggie picked out for you." He heard his son say. He couldn't help smiling to himself before turning to face them again, tugging on his jacket to loosen it.

"It's too short, but thanks, kid." Michonne answered as Rick took Judith from Carl. She wasted no time leading them through the front door. "You boys clean up pretty nice yourselves," she added as she waited for Rick to lock the door.

"Glad you think so," he replied, rubbing the stubble on his chin as he turned back to face her. "I would've shaved but…"

"It's fine. This isn't so bad." Michonne reached up and touched his face before she could stop herself. She was supposed to be annoyed with him. She couldn't put her finger on why just yet. She dropped her hand as his eyes glinted behind the contact and turned away. Rick was determined to get her to look at him for longer than two seconds together before the night was over. Maybe even to talk to him beyond terse platitudes.

"So, I brought Maggie a present by the house earlier." Carl was saying as they walked down towards the Monroe home. "This _is_ a baby shower, right? Maggie's gonna announce that she's...you know...pregnant?"

"That's the last time I let you bribe me into gossiping with you." Michonne said, letting Carl's endless curiosity put her somewhat at ease as they walked briskly through the quiet streets. "Keep it zipped until she decides to tell people, okay?"

Rick wanted to ask if it was chocolate that got her to tell Carl about Maggie, but kept quiet as he listened to his son and his best friend doing their thing.

"I know, I know. But...she's doing it tonight, right? Enid and I have a bet."

To anyone observing, they looked like a family. Michonne, dark dreads hanging down her back and the slight breeze rustling her skirt, leading the Grimes men through their neighborhood. Rick, holding his baby daughter with his son matching his stride behind her.

All that was missing was for her hand to be in his.

* * *

Maggie immediately put Michonne to work when they arrived, leaving Rick and Carl to fend for themselves.

Carl wasted no time finding Enid, and together they passed Judith on to Carol and went off to get up to...whatever it was they got up to these days. Rick chose not to think about it too much, or the fact that Carl's voice was getting deeper and deeper with each passing month, it seemed.

Though they'd had a couple of these town get-togethers by now, Rick still found them hard to get through. Every time seemed to get a bit easier, but this time there was no Deana or Reg. Spencer was moving through the crowd talking to people, but there was something lacking there. A certain warmth that both his parents had. Even Rick knew the difference. He felt kinda bad for Spencer. But at least he was trying. He was a good kid. Clumsy. But good.

Soon, it became apparent who sided with Rick in the 'uncomfortable making small talk' department. Daryl, Rick, Abraham and Sasha stood by in a corner of the big living room, taking periodic sips of beer and not talking to each other. They were all pretty comfortable with this set up.

For his part, Rick just watched the crowd. Nodding or smiling in greeting to whomever caught his eye. Noting the absence of those they'd lost. Most people wouldn't think it, but he knew each and every loss, and most of the names and faces of the Alexandrians they'd lost, not just his people. Among his people, though, were Father Gabriel...and Morgan. Rick's chest tightened and he swallowed, thinking about the loss of Morgan, until Daryl spotted Carol and excused himself.

So far, everyone was just talking. Catching up. Loosening up. Rick supposed this was Glenn's strategy, to get everyone to relax before whatever it was that was coming.

Michonne came into his view, finally, and he knew he didn't have to hide that he was staring at her, because she had been avoiding eye contact with him since they arrived forty five minutes ago. He was working on his beer, working on his nerve, because he wanted to confront her about her attitude towards him. He didn't like this. She was rarely annoyed with him and he preferred to keep it that way. The last time, sure he deserved it, but this time he had no idea what he'd done to piss her off. He didn't like not being on the same page with her. He needed that. Aside from Daryl and Glenn, there was no one else he trusted more than Michonne. Just being around her seemed to clear his head, especially these days. Her avoiding him like this was driving him up a damn wall.

And her looking so good tonight wasn't helping matters. Rick took a big gulp of his beer, finishing it off.

"You sure you don't know what's going on with those guys?" Sasha pried again for the upteenth time, and he turned to see her casting side-long looks at Maggie, Glenn, Michonne and Spencer, who were now huddled in the kitchen.

Rick shrugged. "We've all been too busy to catch up properly," he offered lamely.

It was the truth, but also an excuse. He didn't really want to know what they were up to. He hadn't been in the mood or mindset for politics. He already knew what his plan of action was: Get this place safe, train those people to hold their own, and go hunt those Wolves down to destroy them all before they came back for seconds.

"I guess we'll find out soon enough."

"Right." Sasha deadpanned, clearly not believing him. "Well the way you've been eyeballing Michonne all night, it seems pretty clear to me you're waiting for _something_. I guess we _will_ find out, then."

He barely had time to react to her words before Jessie obscured Rick's view of Michonne. He straightened his posture as she found his eyes and began making her way through the crowd towards their group.

Sasha suddenly announced that she was getting more beer. Abraham followed after her, leaving Rick alone to talk to Jessie. She offered him a soft smile as she took Sasha's place leaning next to him against the windowsill. Michonne had been wrong-they weren't the last ones to arrive. This was the first time he'd seen Jessie since they got here. He had shamefully decided against stopping in again before heading home, to make sure she was okay and still coming. He was too exhausted at the time to exert the last of his energy doing the dance they were doing. Besides, he'd been pretty diligent up until this point.

Checking on her had gotten to be something he just folded into his schedule, no matter what the day held. He just felt...guilty. And he got annoyed with himself for feeling guilty. He didn't quite understand himself around this woman. He just knew that helping her felt like the right thing to do.

"Hey." She said, and he nodded his head in greeting.

"You made it. I was wonderin' if you'd feel like it."

Jessie returned his nod, her eyes looking a little less sad than they had the day before. "Maggie and I talked." She lowered her voice and leaned in closer. "She told me the good news. She's...really sweet."

Rick gave her a pleasantly surprised look and agreed with her. "She is. I'm glad you two talked."

"Don't worry, I won't spill. I have a feeling she wants to tell everyone tonight. You know? Get everyone excited about something."

Rick tilted his head at her, his eyes narrowing into hers. That was an interesting notion. He remembered when he found out Lori was pregnant. His instincts then had been to feel excitement, pride, even. But Lori had quickly soured that. Being pregnant in this world wasn't necessarily good news. But he wouldn't trade Judith for anything. Lori spared him from having to, anyway. He realized that now.

"Where's Sam?" He asked, pushing thoughts of Lori aside, wanting to change the subject.

Jessie looked embarrassed, then she simply shrugged sadly. "He refuses to come out of the back bedroom." He couldn't think of what to say as she laughed cheerlessly. "But at least I got him to leave the house."

Once again, Rick felt sympathy for her course through him. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave her a supportive squeeze. "He'll come around, Jessie. Just be patient with him."

It was all he could offer. He didn't like himself much for it, but he knew he had been purposefully avoiding having to talk about the kiss they shared before all hell broke loose. To this day, he had no idea why he'd done it. And he had regretted it as soon as it was over. He couldn't think of how to tell her that, so he just dumbly avoided it.

"Thanks, Rick. For everything." Jessie placed her hand on his and squeezed back, keeping his gaze. He could see the questions behind all the sadness in her eyes, clear as day. He knew she wanted to ask him about them, if there was such a thing. He knew there wasn't, but saying it out loud seemed like kind of a dick move right this moment.

Then suddenly, her eyes went wide and focused past him, and he turned to see Sam standing there, looking pale but at least a bit more lucid than the last time he'd seen him. Jessie let go of Rick's hand and knelt toward her son, her eyes sparkling with surprise. "Hey, bud. What's up?"

"I'm hungry, mom." Was all he said, not looking at Rick, but staring into his mother's eyes. Rick had to hand it to the kid. He was trying. Thinking about it, they were all trying. The Alexandrians. He knew Michonne wanted him to, and he'd been resisting it for reasons he couldn't examine properly, but he had to admit that she was right.

"Okay...well...let's go get you a snack." Jessie stood up and took his hand, turning to flash Rick a happy, hopeful look. He returned her smile, and patted Sam on the head. "See you in a bit?"

"Sure." He lifted his empty beer bottle in a 'see you later' gesture and watched her lead her son into the kitchen.

And then his eyes found Michonne again.

She was looking right at him. He shifted his jaw and felt his dick harden at the look in her eyes. She started moving toward him, having finished whatever talk she was having with Maggie and the others. He didn't take his eyes off of her as he watched her move those hips of hers across the room, headed straight for him.

"Is Rick on board?" Maggie had asked Michonne as they were laying out more mixers and plastic cups for people to make their own drinks.

Michonne sighed, avoiding Maggie's gaze as she set two stacks of cups up next to a bowl of punch on the big kitchen island. "We haven't exactly had a chance to discuss it," she admitted, bracing herself for Maggie's annoyance.

"Oh, _come on_." Spencer's voice cut in; he'd been eavesdropping on the other side of the island, pretending to be making himself a drink. "Are you serious? You didn't tell him?"

"Oh shit." Now Glenn had appeared out of nowhere, standing next to Maggie, leaning over to look at Michonne in disbelief.

Michonne huffed out a breath, blowing a loose lock of hair out of her face, and stood up straight, gazing at them defiantly. "Look, he hasn't exactly been easy to talk to lately, okay? He's got other plans."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Spencer growled, leaning in closer, forgetting his pretense of a drink.

"Hey, calm down!" Michonne hissed, glaring at him. "I'll handle Rick. He's not going to fight us on this."

"You sure about that, Michonne?" Glenn uttered soberly, his gaze gentle but his meaning clear. He knew Rick better than any of them standing here. She swallowed, her gaze softening as well.

"Trust me. Please. This is going to work. We're _this_ close to doing this shit the right way." She looked at them all in turn, now, her gaze hopeful and encouraging. "He'll get on board."

"She's got it." Maggie spoke resolutely, staring at Michonne. She nodded her agreement and turned to Glenn, reaching down to squeeze his hand. "Rick will do what she asks."

Michonne's eyes unwillingly rose to find the subject of their hushed conversation. Rick was standing all the way across the room, leaning against the window and talking to Jessie. The pretty blonde looked sad, but determined. Michonne saw Rick squeeze Jessie's shoulder, and turned her eyes away again.

When she was facing her co-conspirators again, Maggie was handing two beers out to her, a meaningful look in her eyes. In fact, all three of them were looking at her the same way. "We're gonna make the announcement in about ten or fifteen minutes."

Michonne took the beers and stood up straight, understanding completely.

"Just talk to him." Glenn said, his hand on Maggie's shoulder. "He trusts you, Michonne. _We_ trust you. Maggie's right, you got this."

Her eyes flickered toward Spencer. He stood holding his empty cup, looking as though he'd been outvoted. He shrugged. "If you guys say it's cool, I believe you. I just don't wanna lose more people. We need this to work."

She nodded and sighed, turning to face the room. Carol sauntered over holding Judith, eyeing the tall, gorgeous black woman knowingly. "Is she going in?" She muttered, not quiet enough for Michonne to miss her words.

Michonne tuned them out and focused on Rick. He was patting Sam's head. She waited until Jessie was leading her son towards the kitchen and then she started making her way towards him. She paused to give Jessie and Sam a soft smile but otherwise kept her eyes on Rick.

He was standing there, staring at her, like usual. His beautiful eyes and those delicious looking lips making her sex tingle again. She didn't know exactly what she planned to do, but she also knew that she couldn't wait to be close to him. To breathe in his naturally musky scent, to hear his scratchy, southern drawl. She loved the way he was looking at her, she always did.

She couldn't help gazing back at him, giving him permission to look her up and down as she got closer and closer. She finally arrived at the back of the spacious living room and held out one of the beers to him.

"Thank you," he took it, leaning on air again, a smile on his scruffy face.

He opened their beers with his pocket knife, and both took long gulps at the same time.

"You're welcome." Michonne breathed, grinning at him as they came up for air.

"What the hell is tonight about, Michonne?" He asked her straight up, taking another sip of his beer, his eyes locked on hers.

Her smiled faltered, but she shrugged. "Maggie's with child. And we all needed a drink."

"Is that all?"

Michonne frowned. "Oh, are we accusing _me_ of keeping secrets, now? Takes one to know one, right?"

Rick clenched his jaw. There was that attitude again. He straightened his posture rigidly, shaking his head at her but making an effort to restrain his frustration. "Did I do somethin' to piss you off?"

She blinked, taken off guard. She still hadn't figured out why exactly she was so annoyed with him, and he was already calling her out.

"What are you talking about?" She hedged, her pretty face soft and partially hidden by her gorgeous locks.

Rick sighed, glancing around at the crowded room full of Alexandria residents. Jessie was watching her son eat one of Carol's cookies. Maggie and Glenn were talking with Sasha and Abraham. Rosita and Tara were talking in a huddle in the corner. Spencer was an obvious third wheel amongst Aaron and Daryl. Everyone else was otherwise occupied, letting the low-playing music ease them into forgetting, momentarily, what lay in wait beyond the walls.

He suddenly just wanted to be alone with Michonne.

He turned his eyes back to her, and touched her arm, his fingers briefly caressing her soft skin.

"Let's go outside."

Michonne hesitated, but agreed, leading him through the room and out onto the landing that led down to the back patio. The warm glow of the lone patio light made her skin look beautiful as he followed her out there. The night air was cool and he was grateful for it, because he was feeling hot and tense just looking at her.

She turned around and took him in. He was staring at her with his lips slightly parted, his expression expectant. He looked damned good, his arms straining against his shirt and jacket, his stance rigid but graceful. His eyes glinting in the semi-darkness.

"What?" She demanded quietly.

"You tell _me_ what." He answered, his drawl drawing out his low retort. "You've been actin' like you can't stand to be around me all night."

She faltered at the quiet tinge of hurt in his voice. Rick shifted on his feet, waiting. Michonne finally had enough of being standoffish with him. She had to be honest, now. She took a long swig of her beer and sighed. "Maggie and Spencer want to take over Alexandria." She confessed, watching his face for his reaction. He blinked rapidly but didn't speak yet. "And they want to start bringing in more people. They want you...they want _us_ …to help them build a community. A _real_ community." She beseeched him with her eyes.

"And you didn't think you could tell me?"

Michonne bit her lip, feeling her skin tingle under his intense blue stare. Now she remembered why she was so damned annoyed with him, and let loose. "Like you would've listened. All you care about lately is treating these people like-"

"Like _what_?" He growled, stepping closer to her, his muscles tense. Michonne flinched but didn't move. He didn't scare her. "I'm protecting us. _All_ of us. Like you asked."

She was just as annoyed as he was, and she wasn't going to let him get away with being an asshole for weeks, but she couldn't think of what to say just yet. There were a lot of things on her mind, not least of which was how damned attracted she was to him, and how much she hated him for it. No...she didn't hate him. She hated how he made her feel, and how unignorable it was becoming since they got to Alexandria.

Rick licked his lips, looking her up and down, annoyed with her yet so attracted to her that he couldn't stop himself from moving still closer. "You think I'm fuckin' around, Michonne?" He accused, squinting at her. "You think I'm out there working my ass off for shits and giggles?"

"No, Rick." She said defiantly, crossing her arms and glaring at him. "All I know is that you're not telling me something. You could've had a say in all this, but you're keeping your distance and biding your time. For what?"

Rick shook his head, his eyes flickering down to his beer bottle. "So we're both not telling each other things. What d'you suppose we do about that?"

Michonne continued to glare. "I'm serious. Tell me the truth."

"What do you wanna know?"

"Are you planning to take this place by force?"

Rick scoffed, rubbing his cheek and smirking off into the distance at her audacity. He finally turned back to her, and said simply: "No. My turn."

Michonne waited, the fire in his eyes making her uneasy.

"Is that why you've been actin' like this? You thought I was gonna go behind your back and take this place?"

She shifted her weight, her free hand on her hip. She couldn't lie to him. "I wasn't sure."

He advanced on her, stopping short of getting right in her face. "Tell me what to do, then." He breathed, clenching his jaw. He couldn't help himself. This woman had a hold on him, and he hated how it made him feel like he would do anything to please her. "I'm doing all this because you _asked_ me to. Because you believe in it. But we gotta make this place safe first. I trust you more than anybody, and I _thought_ you trusted me. I thought you were _with_ me. If what I'm doin' now isn't enough, then _what is_?"

"What…?" She whispered, her brow furrowed, her heart pounding. The way he was looking at her...she hated how easily he got her body going, with just the look in his eyes. God, he was sexy. He was standing close to her, but leaning away. She could tell, though, that he was poised to strike.

"I want what you want, Michonne." He rasped, his breath caressing her face. "Tell me what you want."

She remembered again, Deanna's last words to her. What did she want? When she thought of Judith and Carl and Rick...and a home, and a chance at a real life, and...love. She knew what she wanted. She had to get him on board with their plan, but she also wanted more than anything for Rick Grimes to want _her_. To want to _be_ with her. She had forgotten what this felt like, loving a man. But she realized, right then and there in the cool evening breeze on the back patio, that she loved him. And she wanted him to fuck her. Hard. And then slow. Anywhere and any time he wanted to. In any position, on any surface.

And he wanted it too, she could see in his dark cerulean eyes as he gazed at her, waiting for her answer.

"You really wanna know?" She said breathily, her full, soft lips capturing his attention. _He_ wanted _her_. He had wanted her for months. There was no denying it to himself anymore.

Rick nodded, swallowing hard, but held his ground. "Ask me."

Michonne stepped into him, pressing her breasts against his hard chest. She could hardly believe herself for what she was about to do, but she also didn't really care. What she wanted, in that moment, was to finally be able to satisfy this ever-intensifying ache that she felt whenever she thought of him, alone in the dark. She was sick of him stopping short of checking her out. She wanted action.

He tilted his head and his eyes fell to her lips again as she uttered: " _Stop looking and just fuck me already, Rick._ "

He huffed out a breath, his eyes widening at her words. Then he wasted zero seconds capturing her lips with his, reaching up to cup her beautiful face with his free hand as he kissed her eagerly. Her lips were full, pillow-soft, and slightly damp from the beer. They felt delicious against his, as he always fantasized that they would. He felt a surge of longing and lust course through his body as he pressed his lips to hers over and over again, grinding his rapidly hardening bulge into her each time he went in for another taste of her.

Heat skyrocketed through him, caressing his cock, and making him painfully hard as he let go of her face and eagerly reached under her dress to cup her full, round bottom in a possessive grip.

Michonne gasped and Rick immediately dipped his tongue into her mouth, lapping at hers slowly. She felt her pussy quiver and clench and her panties grow wet as Rick's hand groped her ass and he used his arm to press her body into his. She almost dropped her beer as she felt him, long and astoundingly hard, pressing into her like a hot pipe. _Fuck_ , she was getting wetter and wetter as Rick tasted every inch of her mouth and circled his tongue with hers relentlessly.

They heard a high-pitched 'clink, clink, clink' sound coming out through the open windows from the house, and Michonne reluctantly broke off the kiss to look up through the windows. Shit, had it been ten minutes already? Someone was knocking a spoon or something against a glass. They were about to start the announcement.

She turned back to Rick, who was still holding her tightly against him, still leaning in for another kiss. His pupils had bloomed wide and intense with lust. "To be continued?" She breathed, and he followed the movement of her lips with his gaze.

Instead of answering, he took another kiss, squeezing her in his warm hand again. "Be quick."

"You on board?" She raised an eyebrow at him, knowing she she still had a mission.

Rick chuckled and bit his lip, squeezing her again. "I always am. Now, hurry up."

The huskiness in his voice sent a shiver through her and she felt her sex quiver with anticipation . Then he let go of her and stepped back, taking another swig of his beer, not taking his eyes from hers. Michonne gave him a slow smile as she straightened her dress and left him to follow her back up to the house.

Spencer was just telling everyone the good news about Maggie when they finally made it back inside. Rick hung back and let Michonne make her way into the crowd towards the front of the room, where Maggie and Glenn embraced her.

He was nursing a pretty intense hard on and he needed to get a handle on it before he went up there. But the thought of finally kissing Michonne, touching her in all the places he'd always secretly wanted to touch her, and then being _inside_ her later. _God_ , hearing that smooth voice of hers moan _'stop looking and fuck me'_...it was making his blood pump in a steady swell of arousal through his chest to his groin. He couldn't take his eyes off her as he stood rigidly by the back door, taking periodic sips of his beer for something to do. She was beautiful. Strong. A damned good fighter. A protector for his kids. His best friend. And she could sway him like the wind with just the look in her eyes.

He was in love with her, he realized. It hit him like a brick and created a thick knot in his throat. He loved her and he wanted her like nobody's business. He wanted to roll around with her in bed, he wanted to smell of her sex. He wanted her in his mouth, on his cock, anywhere and everywhere she would have him. Rick was burning up with anticipation, planning what he was going to do to her later. Just thinking about tasting her was making his mouth water.

"Rick?" Jessie was there, suddenly, and everyone was looking at him. Jessie squinted at him curiously, her sad eyes peering into his face. She blinked hard at the look in his eyes, dropping her own but gesturing to the front, where everyone was still staring at him. "You're up."

They had asked him to the front. Rick walked rigidly through the crowd, hoping no one would look down and notice that his black jeans were uncomfortably tight.

He congratulated Maggie with a loose hug, careful not to get too close, and shook Glenn's hand, giving him a brotherly squeeze on the head. He stood next to Michonne, her body heat and the sporadic touch of her skin against his making his heart thump in his chest. He only looked at her once, and couldn't keep his eyes from flickering to her lips, so he turned his head forward and tried to focus on his surroundings.

Everyone was looking at them, waiting. Jessie's eyes were glued to his, her blonde head peeking up in a part in the crowd at the back of the room. He suddenly felt a pang of regret, looking at her. He had handled his relationship with her clumsily, for a whole bunch of reasons he couldn't even begin to unravel yet. He'd make it up, somehow. Make it right. Balanced.

Then she tore her eyes away to focus on Spencer, who had started talking about the community. About Deanna's plans for expansion. About he and Maggie's decision to be joint leaders, with the community's blessing, to see her plans to fruition. They talked about Michonne and Rick continuing to arm them properly, and prepare them to stand against more Wolves, more walkers, or anything else that might threaten them.

Rick stood there and listened, and realized why Michonne had been so anxious about how he'd take all this. He didn't exactly have all that much confidence in Spencer's leadership abilities. But he also realized that he would go along. He trusted Maggie and he didn't want a fight. Not really. He would do it if he had to, but Michonne was right. There was no need to _make_ something happen. They were all in this together now; that was the reality of the situation. He could let Maggie and Spencer handle the politics and do what he did best. Protect. Build. Provide for his kids. His family. With Michonne at his side, backing him up. He preferred things that way.

When it was over, they all took a vote. Rick didn't have to say much, just stand there and look as though he'd known all along and was on board. The community agreed to their plan, some albeit reluctantly. Rick didn't worry too much-that was Spencer and Maggie's job, now.

"Hey, thanks, man." Glenn muttered, cutting Rick's step towards Michonne off and grasping him by the shoulder. "This is gonna work. I know you have your reservations, but I'm glad you're giving this a shot."

Rick sighed and focused on Glenn, but kept Michonne in his peripheral. "I'm just glad you're back." Rick answered. "I'm happy for you both. I know you two have got this. All of it. Baby included."

They grinned at each other, and then it seemed like all 'his people' had converged, asking him questions and seeking reassurance. "You really gonna do this, man?" Daryl asked in a low, hopeful voice.

Rick nodded. "You were right. We need to start thinking beyond survival...I want a future for this place, too."

"Still can't believe you didn't tell us." Sasha stood with her arms crossed, looking defiant as always. Then she softened, loosening her stance. "But...I'm glad you came around. So let's do this."

They all hit him in a wave, it seemed. Carol bringing Judith to him and whispering her serious approval. Carl and Enid suddenly re-appearing and his son telling his dad he thought he was doing the right thing. Abraham giving him a fist bump and Rosita giving him a thumbs up from the punch bowl across the room. A few Alexandrians even came to tell him that they supported him, and they were fully on board with learning how to fight. And Jessie came. Rick had lost Michonne from the corner of his eye and suddenly Jessie was there with Sam clinging to her front, her arms around his shoulders.

The boy stared up at him, and Jessie had a curious look on her face. "What can I do?" She asked, causing him to blink at her rapidly. "To help? Give me a job. I'm ready, now. I won't let you down."

Rick sighed and stepped closer to her, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. "Just stick close to Sam and let me think about it, alright?" He looked off, pretending to be thinking of it now, but really searching the room for Michonne. He finally spotted her, glancing back at him as she walked slowly through the hallway towards the back bedroom. Rick turned immediately back to Jessie to end the conversation. "And I think I know just the thing. But let's celebrate for now. Sam?" He knelt toward the young, traumatized boy and smiled. "Carl's on gift duty, there's a few piled up over there for Maggie and Glenn. Why don't you and your mom give him a hand?"

Sam looked up at his mom first, but eventually nodded. Jessie looked like she wanted to say more, but she let her son lead her away towards the baby shower gifts. Rick waited until he saw Maggie and Jessie embrace before turning and stepping quickly though the crowd towards where he'd seen Michonne.

He didn't look at anyone or even pretend to be focused on anything other than getting back to that bedroom.

He felt his dick jump to life as he strode into the dark hallway, thinking of her waiting for him, her long, lean body swathed in that sexy ass dress. He wanted to wrap his fingers in her dreadlocks and fuck her from behind; he wanted to watch that exquisite, dark brown ass of hers slam into his dick over and over again. He wanted to taste her. Rick licked his lips as he reached the door, and he forced himself to come to a stop and be still. He took a deep breath and reached up to deliver a soft knock.

The door breezed open and there she stood, staring at him with those big, gorgeous eyes of hers.

Rick looked back once to make sure everyone was still enjoying the party and that no one had followed or noticed he'd gone. Satisfied, he turned again to face Michonne, advancing on her heatedly as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

Michonne stood still, feeling his gaze burning her up from head to toe. She felt proud and grateful. She felt incredibly attracted to him. She felt like she felt the day she first saw him, glaring at her through a mesh fence around a big, stone prison. And her eyes dropped to his pants as he glared at her with unabashed lust now. She saw his dick through the black fabric, straining down his leg, making him lean slightly to the side. It looked big, and she felt her pussy throb when it twitched under her gaze in the dim lamp light in the room.

Rick turned and locked the door. Then he took a step towards her, taking off his jacket as he eyed her up and down. Those blue eyes of his shining.

"I'm gonna go after the Wolves…" he grunted, taking another step and throwing the jacket on the bed. She frowned, her brain catching up to his words too late as he advanced on her. "That's what I wasn't tellin' you. But I wanna do things your way first."

Michonne's lips parted as Rick was suddenly all up in her personal space, his hands gently trailing along her body to grasp her and pull her into his arms. And oh god, she felt it. That rock hard cock of his, straining through his pants, pushing into her pelvis and thigh.

"I want you with me on this." Rick nipped at her lips with his plump, pink mouth. Again and again. Then he turned her around in a flash, pressing her ass against his groin, grinding into her from behind. He cupped her breast through the fabric of the dress with one strong hand and reached under the skirt of the dress with his other. Her breath caught in her throat as his warm fingers trailed up her thigh, finding her opening. "I _need_ you _with_ me."

She whimpered as he slowly massaged her swollen, throbbing clit with his index finger through the soft fabric of her panties. He huffed out a harsh breath against her ear as he parted her legs with his foot and pushed the damp garment aside to dip his finger into her hot, wet folds.

" _Jesus_ , Michonne…" he groaned, burying his face in her neck and thrusting futilely against her with his hard on. She was so wet. She was scorching inside. Her soft pubic hair was soaked, clinging to her flesh just at the top of her slit. He massaged her sex with his fingers, his erection so intense it was painful.

The echo of voices and low music hummed at them from outside the bedroom, but they were lost in each other. Michonne's hips moved in a steady grind against him, her ass rubbing sensuously against his erection as his fingers explored her slick folds. "Tell me." He whispered hoarsely, nipping at her earlobe, his thick index finger sliding into her. Her sex quaked around him and he cupped her possessively, causing her to push her ass into him again and nod slowly.

"Yes." Michonne hissed, biting her lip. "I'm with you, Rick."

He suddenly couldn't contain himself. He wanted to taste her so bad. He had been wanting her in his mouth since he'd nearly come in his sleep dreaming about it weeks ago. He let go of her breast and slipped his fingers from inside her to reach down with both hands and snatch her panties down her legs.

Michonne hurriedly stepped out of them and kicked off her shoes, her sex pulsing with anticipation as she heard Rick exhale roughly. She turned around to see him gliding to his feet, loosening his tie, staring her down.

"Get on the bed." He commanded in a hoarse grunt.

She felt a chill ripple through her, straight to her clit, and she complied.

Rick got his tie loose and undid two buttons on his shirt. He ran a hand through his hair and knelt before her as she lay on her back against a pile of jackets, staring at him. He was on his knees, and his eyes were hooded, predatory moonstones that caught her in their grip and wouldn't let her go.

He took hold of her by the thighs and settled down on his knees, pushing her legs up so that _her_ knees rested almost at her shoulders-her sex fully exposed to him. The warm, tingly breeze from his breath caressed her pussy deliciously, making her breathless.

Rick dropped his eyes from hers to get a good, long look at her bare sex. Goddamn, she was sexy. Her dark lips were glistening with precum, her clit large and brown with a tinge of pink peeking out at him. He licked his own lips before leaning in and running his tongue along her flesh, folding his mouth over her sex and groaning with satisfaction.

Michonne gasped as Rick clutched at her thighs, holding her in place with a firm grip, sucking her pussy into his hot mouth. She felt every sensation so intensely that she had to grab at his head to keep from slipping off the bed in a quivering heap. But he held her firmly in place, his hot breath and his thick, slick tongue diving in and out of her, then up and down and circling her swollen bud firmly. She reveled in the feel of his scratchy stubble prickling at her smooth thighs as he lapped her up and down like she was an ice cream cone.

She wasn't going to last long if he kept this up, her whole body was becoming fine-tuned to his administrations. She arched her back to get her clit as deep in his mouth as possible, massaged his scalp whenever he drove his tongue into her forcefully, or widened her legs at his urging. The hum of voices and music lulled her as he sucked at her over and over, drawing an orgasm closer and closer, making her muscles tighten and a desperate moan escape her lips. "Fuck...Rick... _yes!_ _Ohhh god…_ "

Rick's ears perked up and his erection throbbed at the sound of her moaning his name. He made an eager, hungry noise in his throat and surged on, reveling in the feel of her slender fingers in his hair and her wet center in his mouth. He totally forgot about the world beyond this bedroom door; he only concentrated on losing himself between Michonne's thighs. He could hardly believe this was happening...just a day or so ago, he felt like she'd been slipping through his fingers. They were never together for longer than enough time to say 'hey', catch up with the kids, eat and sleep.

Now though, she was writhing around against his face, thrusting her hips into him, moaning for him. He was grateful that the party sounded like it was coming to life, judging by the laughter and loud talking wafting towards them through the locked door. But he felt so proud and so horny at the fact knowing that she could hardly keep her voice down that he now _had_ to feel her come in his mouth. Determinedly, Rick massaged her clit with his tongue in firm, relentless circles. Then he dipped one thick finger inside her, pumping in and out steadily. He cured his finger as he pumped, causing her to buck against him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, _yes, yes, yes, yes…_ " she was humming as quietly as she could in a reverent mantra, and he continued until his tongue felt like it would break.

Finally, Michonne broke apart around him, shuddering violently with the force of her orgasm. He lapped up every drop and squeezed her thighs in his hands as she came. Rick stayed put as she rode it out with her fingers still entwined in his hair, undulating against him, her legs wide, her skin glistening.

She shook in his grasp sporadically for a moment, and then released him. Rick kissed her thighs indulgently before letting them slip from his hands and standing up slowly. They didn't have much time, but he couldn't help pausing just to take in the sight of her, her eyes hooded by her lashes and her gorgeous body exposed to him from the waist down.

"God, you're beautiful…" he whispered in awe as she stood gracefully to her feet and stepped into him. She grasped his belt to pull him closer, and he came willingly, staring her down.

Michonne's thighs were slick with the remnants of Rick's saliva and her cum. She felt tingly and sensitive after what he'd done to her, and more so because of the way the compliment fell from his thick lips. Like he'd been waiting for a long time to finally say it out loud. It made her wonder how long he'd thought so, how long he'd been biting his tongue, with every look he ever gave her. It made her ache for him.

She knew they didn't have much time-but they had sent her 'in' knowing what could happen (hell, she wouldn't be surprised if they'd all taken bets on it), so she didn't feel guilty about taking a moment to cop a feel of Rick's hard length through his jeans and staring into his eyes.

The look in his eyes as he tugged the strappy top of her dress down made her wet all over again. Finally, he was acting on all those looks he'd given her, all those times he shifted on his feet in her presence like he wanted to get his hands on her. Finally they could behave like two people monstrously attracted to one another, instead of hiding behind the tension of everything else they had to deal with. Michonne's eyes slipped shut as _finally_ Rick dipped his tongue out and licked her right nipple into his mouth.

Fuck how long they were taking...he was swirling her nipple around and around his mouth with his hot tongue, grinding his erection into her. She knew she was going to leave a stain on his pants if he kept this up, so she backed them up to the bed. He didn't detach from her as they fell back amongst the piled of jackets, keeping her nipple trapped in his mouth, sending eddies of electric sensation shooting straight down to her clit.

She was throbbing for him again, and she bucked against his groin impatiently, even as she lost herself in the feel of his mouth going to work on her breast. Rick reached down with one hand to help her undo his belt and pants, switching to tongue the other breast without mercy. The one he left without the benefit of his mouth tingled and perked up in the cool air.

Michonne finally got his pants undone and reached down without hesitation to wrap her hand around his cock, her head swimming with lust. She wanted him in her mouth, desperately, but she also wanted him inside her with a fervor that would not be denied. Rick let go of her breast to grunt and grind himself into her exquisitely soft fingers. Precum pooled and dripped down into her grip, lubricating him for her. She stroked him while she pulled him free of his pants, and soon he was hot and hard, resting against her slick opening. They both moaned in husky whispers as Rick buried his face in her chest and rubbed himself against her. "Michonne...baby…" he couldn't help breathing out.

She bit her lip and wrapped her legs around him, wanting him closer, loving the feel of his weight on top of her. Not giving a damn about the party anymore.

They were lost in the feel of their naked flesh, slick and hot, rubbing against each other slowly...hell, he would come right now if he didn't need to feel himself inside of her so badly.

"Fuck me, Rick…please." She whispered, and he grabbed hold of her hips, lifting his head to crush his lips against hers before thrusting into her powerfully.

She could barely get a sound out before his tongue was inside, devouring her mouth as he pumped in and out of her. His cock was like a piston, stroking her without mercy. They kissed each other fervently as Rick settled down between her legs, grabbing hold of her luscious ass and stroking his hips downward into hers. She was _so_ tight, and she felt _so_ good, he was struggling to keep himself in check. He wanted to feel her come again, feel her walls quake around him, before he could let himself go. He needed to. But he was getting lost inside her. It was all he could do to keep from losing control.

He wanted this all the time. He knew it with certainty as he drove himself in and out of her hot canal, now kissing at her chocolate breasts. There was no turning back, now. She had to be _his_. They had to be together. He needed her, god he needed her...like this...and more...he wanted to do things to her that would scandalize the whole neighborhood every night, and then he wanted to wake up to the sight of her glowing in the sunlight every morning. God, he hoped she would let him. He didn't think he could stand to go back to pretending this wasn't what he'd wanted for a long time.

Michonne took hold of his face and lifted his gaze to hers. They stared into each other's eyes as he leaned in so close that their lips and noses touched. They kissed every now and then, his cock stroking into her with so much need and so much power that Michonne felt like she would crumble to pieces any second.

She wanted to say it. That she loved him. But she held back. She couldn't now. She didn't want to ruin this...it was so good...holy Christ it was _too_ good…

"I'm coming…! Rick!" she felt herself breaking apart, her pussy quivering and pulsing, a wave of pure pleasure taking over her body. Rick closed his eyes and pumped harder, overwhelmed with the feel of her trembling around him. When he was coming, he reluctantly pulled out, only to have Michonne push him off of her and lithely slide between his legs to take him in her mouth.

He could do nothing but lay back into the pile of jackets and crush his eyes shut as she sucked him dry. The feel of her mouth on him made him come so hard he balled his hands into fists, not wishing them to find their way into her dreadlocks. Michonne licked him from his balls to his head, making sure to catch every drop of his cum. He recovered enough to lift his head and stare at her as she licked him. The very sight coaxed a few dry humps from his still paralyzed hips; if he'd had anything left to give her, though, she was ready for it. She took him in her mouth once more, lubricating him again and letting him go with a quiet 'pop' of her thick lips.

"Jesus fucking Christ…" he muttered hoarsely, running a hand through his hair and laying back again as Michonne crawled up to lay beside him.

"Yeah." She agreed, lifting her left hand up to play with one of her dreads. 'Wow' was also a word that sprang to mind. She had just fucked Rick Grimes. And it was every bit as mind blowing as she'd hoped. It had been so long since she'd done this... _any_ of this...but she fancied she could do a _lot_ more. A whole lot more.

They lay there, breathing, listening to a dance party happening without them, and after a while Rick turned his face to gaze at her. She noticed that he reached down to palm his sated penis, but said nothing, turning to gaze right back at him. She found his brutish little quirks cute.

He was looking at her with the air of a man who no longer had a damned thing to hide. At least, not from her. "I wanna do this again."

She raised an eyebrow at his forwardness, but had to admit that she was glad he was being honest with her. She could use it, after weeks of confusing tension between them. She nodded slowly. "Me too."

Rick exhaled, his breath streaming through his nostrils slowly as he leaned in closer. "Soon?"

Michonne smiled fully, unable to help herself. "Any time."

They kissed softly, their lips lightly touching and peeling away again.

* * *

They could no longer stay in this room. Their absence was surely a hot topic by now. They had no idea what they'd be walking out to. It sounded like a hell of a party, but both Rick and Michonne knew that the two of them being gone for at least half an hour would not go unnoticed.

They got dressed-Rick helping Michonne with her zipper again and she helping him with his tie-and straightened themselves up as best they could. Rick couldn't help staring at her happily as she slipped on her shoes, once again using his outstretched hand for balance.

He reached up and pulled a lock of her hair out of her face, leaning in for another kiss. She obliged, inhaling his scent (which was now unmistakably mixed with hers) as his scratchy chin brushed against hers. "So I guess we play it cool out there?"

He shrugged. "I'll follow your lead."

Michonne decided that she wanted to play it cool. This was hers and Rick's. Not anyone else's. Tonight was about Maggie and Glenn's good news, and the future for Alexandria. No matter how curious their friends and family could be, tonight was not the night for more announcements.

In silent agreement, as was their way (finally back in balance now), the two opened the door and walked back out into the party.

Like they predicted, no one missed that they had suddenly reappeared. Together. Most of the eyes in the room drifted their way, and those that didn't looked as though it was on purpose. Luckily Carl seemed to be extremely occupied talking to Enid in Rick's old spot at the back window.

Carol came and handed Judith to Rick. "Good, you're done. I need Michonne and this one needs changing. Diaper bag's in the…" she raised a knowing eyebrow at him. "Well you know."

Rick turned red and took Judith from Carol.

"I don't want to know details, just tell me he's on board and you two are finally done being martyrs."

Michonne had to laugh out loud as Carol wasted no time digging into her, leading her to the kitchen island again to fetch more drinks.

"He's on board." She supplied, gratefully accepting the beer Carol offered her. She was parched after all that delicious fucking...fucking she hoped they could resume as soon as possible. It had been almost two years since she'd felt anything close that good, and she still had a lot more to get out of her system. She fancied Carol was right-they had been fooling themselves. And everyone knew it. Carol was gazing at her with that same annoying, knowing gleam in her pale blue eyes. "And yes, we're done being idiots. That's all you're getting."

Carol smiled. "Fair enough. And _good_. Rick was getting to be kind of an asshole. He needed to get laid."

"There's more going on, though." Michonne added dutifully ignoring Carol's probing. Carol frowned but she quickly reassured her friend. "But it's not...bad news. Not yet. He's got a plan for the Wolves. But he's not going to act on it now. Not until we get this place up and running again."

The older woman nodded, taking a swig of her own beer.

The party went on some time longer. Everyone seemed to have been dosed with some kind of happy drug. Michonne hadn't seen any of them this carefree in a long, long time. She was happy, herself, just watching them. And watching Rick. He was on Judith duty for the rest of the night, so he didn't get as loose as the others...but he laughed. He smiled. He didn't hide that he was looking at her quite as successfully as usual.

At one point, he found his way to her, holding Judith, and simply stood next to her. They were watching Maggie and Glenn dance to a Nina Simone song. The party was winding down and Rick had a feeling this would be the last hurrah before everyone would disperse for home. They had all earned a good, peaceful, drunken night's sleep. And he couldn't wait to ask Michonne if he could join her for hers.

He turned to look at her in the darkened room, gazing at the graceful slope of her profile, half-hidden behind a veil of dreadlocks. He was in love with her. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew whatever happened, he was going to tell her that. The truth.

He leaned into her, trying to be discreet even with Judith putting his tie in her mouth. "Mind if I crash in your room tonight?"

Michonne lowered her chin towards him but kept her eyes on Glenn and Maggie. "You better."

Someone else had been keeping her eye on them as well. She was sitting on the couch, Sam asleep in her lap, pretending to be happy for Glenn and Maggie. But really she was watching Rick and Michonne every chance she got. She couldn't help it. She couldn't.

Jessie had noticed Rick's coldness, his distance, even when he was acting concerned for her loss and for Sam. He had kissed her before all these horrible things happened, but for all she knew he'd forgotten all about it. And tonight, when she saw the way he was looking at Michonne...all night he'd been staring at the tall, admittedly beautiful woman. All night. Jessie had so many questions, but she didn't have any about what that look was.

Rick wanted her. Jessie knew enough about men to know when a man wanted a woman. And it further saddened and embarrassed her to realize that she'd been hoping, and waiting, for Rick to look at her that way. She realized, sitting on the couch, watching him lean into Michonne with Judith in his arms, whispering into her hair, that he hadn't even looked at her like that when he'd kissed her. His face had been uncertain, and at first she thought it was because he wasn't sure that he had a right to advance on her that way. Something like chivalry, she'd thought.

Hoped. That he hadn't made a move because he was being respectful of all she'd lost. All she'd been through. She was trying for him, but he had only patted her on the shoulder and disappeared for forty minutes with Michonne.

And the Carol woman and Sasha and even Maggie looked at Jessie like they all knew. She was kidding herself. Rick Grimes didn't want her...he was standing with the woman he wanted. And it wasn't Jessie.

Overwhelmed, Jessie gently shook Sam awake and stood to leave.

She clumsily said goodbye to anyone whose path she crossed, hastily thanking Maggie and hugging Spencer before hurrying with Sam to the back bedroom to retrieve their things.

She instantly regretted it when she walked in. The room reeked of sex.

Hot tears stung her eyes when she realized that Michonne and Rick had fucked in this room, probably on this bed. She almost choked on the guilt and anger and embarrassment as she blindly searched for her bag and Sam's vest. She finally found them, unable to take the smell of lust and arousal coating the air a second longer.

She turned and rushed for the door, almost running bodily into Rick, who was still holding Judith.

"Hey, whoa...you okay? You're leaving?"

"What was the point of all this, Rick?' Jessie sobbed, unable to stop herself. He balked, bouncing Judith lightly in his arms, his blue eyes latched onto hers like a deer in headlights. "Why do you...keep stringing me along? Do you think I'm some dumb idiot who can't protect her children like Michonne protects yours, is _that_ it?"

The memory of how Ron died flashed in both their heated gazes, and Rick faltered, lowering his eyes.

"Jessie, I'm…" he started, but she wiped her tears harshly away and shook her head.

"Don't you dare say you're sorry. Forget it." She growled, stepping up to him, her head down, waiting for him to move aside so she could leave. Judith reached out to play with her hair and he gently pulled his daughter's tiny hand back, stepping aside.

Jessie stormed down the hall, found her son without looking at anyone, and left.

Sam looked up at her, silent tears streaming down her face as they walked home. "What's wrong, Mom?"

"Nothing...mommy's just...tired." Jessie answered lamely, wiping her face. She his shoulder and mutely walking him back to their dark, silent, empty home.


	2. my turn

_i lost myself on a cool damp night_

 _gave myself in that misty light_

 _was hypnotized by a strange delight_

 _lilac wine, you're sweet and heady_

 _like my love_

-Lilac Wine, Jeff Buckley

* * *

"Can I ask you somethin'...?"

Michonne made a face into the top of his bicep, unable to help from chuckling at the shyness in his husky voice, muttered into a tangle of dreadlocks at the back of her neck. It reminded her of Carl. Carl was always saying that. She had always suspected, but now it was confirmed: He got it from his daddy. Just like his bright blue eyes.

Rick was holding her from behind, with one arm draped across her chest and torso to keep her close. His other hand was roaming freely over her naked body...her round, supple ass, her toned stomach, and her shapely, smooth thighs.

He was so relaxed, still feeling a faint buzz from all the beer he'd consumed, and riding a high from being with Michonne all night, that he had voiced his curiosity without realizing it. He hadn't intended to give her any hint at exactly how much he observed her when she wasn't looking. How much he wanted to know about her. Little things. Big things. Secret things. Good things. Bad things. Things about her past. The shit that rattled around in her head at night when she was trying to sleep.

And now that he could finally _feel_ her, freely, it was going to his head, all that pent up curiosity (after only a matter of hours and two goddamned glorious rounds of sex). He had gotten to know her some on the road before they found the others and Judith again. But now he wanted more. More of her sex, more of her soul. He couldn't help it. He let it slip.

He grinned into her hair, keeping quiet now, embarrassed. He felt his face warm up as Michonne's silent laughter made her body quake against him.

"You just did." She quipped, her smooth voice a whisper that he felt on his arm. He tingled there where her lips brushed against his skin. That tiny sensation alone, coupled with the lovely weight of her naked ass against his thighs, was enough to get him hard again. "So..?"

Rick pressed himself into her, burying his face into her hair. "Well, don't make me ask it _now_."

His gruff, yet bashful drawl coaxed a delicious quiver from her sex, and she wanted to see his face. Possibly to steal a kiss or two from his gorgeous lips. Make him wait for her, force him to fess up whatever was on his mind.

"Now's the perfect time, don't you think?" Michonne, feeling more carefree and sexy than she had in so long it hurt to think about, sighed and rubbed herself against him, searching for his hard on. When she found it, she parted her legs just a little and felt him inhale sharply, his fingers gripping her hip as she undulated her wet opening against his thick head. She wanted him to feel just how wet she was for him, already. It was just a tease, though. She turned around and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing her breasts into him as he pulled her against him again possessively. Rick let out his breath through his nostrils, bucking his hips as his manhood rested thick, warm, and hard (yet again) against her inner thigh, thrusting once in hopes to find entrance to her slick center. He was determined to keep them glued together all night, it seemed. He was insatiable, and he was going to be a handful, she could already tell. They had no hope of keeping what they were doing any kind of a secret, but it was an exciting challenge that held all sorts of delicious possibilities.

She stared into his incandescent blues, still buzzed, not in any way tired. Rick looked embarrassed, but also overcome with lust as he stared right back at her in the faint moonlight streaming through her windows. "Now you _have_ to ask me."

Rick rolled his eyes and clenched his jaw, but her attempt at being adorable worked. "Then what?" His smile slowly broke through, rounding the corners of his mouth as he gazed at her, running his hands gently along her body. He couldn't get enough of her skin. He had been mesmerized with it basically since the day he met her. The way it glowed in the sun, how sweat seemed only to make it look sexier. And he knew he was becoming addicted to how it felt under his touch, against his own skin. Like warm, luscious silk.

Michonne leaned in and captured his lips with hers, sliding her tongue inside his mouth, pulling him in even closer for a slow, indulgent kiss. He undulated against her, his length sliding along her silky thighs, his breath a warm breeze on her skin. She was dripping, and aching, just at the desirous look on his world weary face."Then I get to ask you whatever _I_ want. And we have to be honest. The fun part is..." She tasted his lips in quick little touches, making him grind into her again, his jaw clenching. "The more we answer," she licked his bottom lip, "...the closer we come to fucking. And then who gives a shit about questions?"

She raised an eyebrow at him, smiling against his lips. "You in?"

He considered her conditions, his fingertips enjoying the smooth plains of her skin. So she was kinda kinky. Alright. It excited him, he was surprised to find. He smirked, regretting that his first question was gonna sound stupid once he said it out loud. But he went for it anyway, unable to help his curiosity about how she would react.

"How'd you get so damned soft?" He asked finally, nuzzling her hair with his nose, grinding into her yet again.

Michonne was a walker cutting machine out there in the open, but in here...in his arms...she was supple. Pliant. It was intoxicating. She was so smooth, virtually hairless except for the small, soft little spring of curls at the peak of her sex. He let his fingers roam down to her amazing ass, and he made sure there wasn't a speck of space between his body and hers. She was forced to wrap her legs around him, landing her deliciously hot pussy lips right at the top of his balls. He almost shivered, it felt so good.

Michonne smirked, but she had to close her eyes and sigh breathlessly when he pressed her into him. His body was burning up. He felt wonderful against her thighs, her breasts. His question was ridiculous, but she obliged. "I wasn't always. We've been on the road together, remember? But…" She rubbed herself against him, the sensation making them both close their eyes and pant at each other. Michonne gathered her wits and continued: "I found the supplies when we got here and...I couldn't resist. A girl's gotta pamper herself, even in if the rest of the world is bullshit, _ugh..mmm…_ "

As she'd been explaining in a soft whisper, Rick's fingers had snaked downward, between her cheeks, and he dipped one thick finger inside of her. The feel of his finger, plunging slowly in and out of her from behind, coupled with his cock nuzzling at her clit from the front, was enough to make her want to fuck him right then. Hard. But she wanted to wait for it more.

So did he. He liked this game. He liked her answer. He loved the sounds she was making. He wanted to hear more. Until the sun came up. He smiled, watching her bite her lip and lose herself in what he was doing to her from his vantage point nuzzled in her dreadlocks. Then, slowly, he stopped. She opened her eyes and stared at him in the dimness.

"I like it." He uttered gruffly, keeping to himself that it made him want to lick her all over. Everywhere.

And it further turned him on to see that the desire in Michonne's eyes matched his. "My turn."

* * *

Rick had been counting the minutes until he could get her alone again after the party. He contemplated going after Jessie for maybe ten seconds, but once he decided it was no use, his focus quickly turned to being alone with Michonne as soon as possible. It was like a dam had been breached, and it was overflowing. He'd been ignoring this, yet yearning for this, for a long damned time. He knew it. Hell, _she_ knew it. Because so had she. _So had she…_

That very thought kept him preoccupied all the way home. Carl had begged to stay over at the Spencer's with Enid, Maggie and Glenn...and he agreed reluctantly, although he knew he was going to have to have a talk with Carl about all this time he was spending with Enid at some point. Carol and Daryl decided to hang out on the front porch when they got home, to continue drinking some more. Rick didn't miss the smug gleam in Carol's eyes as she bid them goodnight. She said all the right things, the seemingly innocent things, laced with innuendo that was pretty hard to miss. Essentially, she was telling them to take their time fucking, because she and Daryl would be good enough to sacrifice a few hours of sleep to get drunk and not hear anything.

Daryl just smoked a cigarette from his perch on the railing, hiding behind his hair like usual, not saying much one way or the other. But he knew, too. Rick could tell.

If they hadn't been absolutely right, he would've contemplated being angry or embarrassed. But tonight he didn't really give a damn what Carol thought. They still had things to say to each other about Morgan, and how he died, but he could only handle one 'come to Jesus' moment at a time. Carol would have to get in line.

Rick had followed Michonne into the house with a sleeping Judith in his arms, up the stairs and into the room the youngest Grimes shared with Carl, where he lay her down. He turned on the baby monitor as Michonne leaned over to kiss Judith goodnight, watching her every move.

He put the baby monitor in his back pocket, stepped up behind her, and pulled her into him, letting her feel how hard he was already. Michonne stood upright, flush against him, feeling his burning, thick length against her ass once again. "Come to bed with me," he whispered into her hair.

She nodded and they backed out of the room, into the hallway. Rick let her go and closed the door gently behind him, then grabbed her hand to lead her in three long strides across the hall to her bedroom. He wasted no time getting the door open and stepping aside to let her in first-only to grab her again from behind and walk her into the dark room towards her bed, nudging the door shut with his boot.

They made quick work of getting their clothes off, kissing heatedly along the way until they separated to discard the last garments obscuring their bodies from each other. She slipped out of her bra and panties while Rick tossed his jeans with the monitor still in the back pocket to the floor, eager to feel her naked skin against his.

She stood before him in the dark room, fully exposed to him, her locks falling over to partially hide her face, her eyes round and intent with desire for him. Her face was radiant in the moonlight as she fixed him with a look he had never seen before tonight, one that made him hard as sin. He let his eyes drink their fill of her, unabashedly massaging his cock with his watch hand as she took slow steps towards him, making him wait. He didn't mind. He was grappling with a need to get his hands on her quickly, but he also wanted to take his time-and really take this in. He remembered every detail of how she felt inside, and he wanted it again more than anything. Michonne sauntered up to him, making his heart beat fiercely as she approached, and he stroked his length in anticipation...eyeing her with his moonstone orbs.

When she reached him, he wasted no time leaning in for a hungry kiss, and she obliged, tonguing him with equal zeal as she turned them around so that she was backing him up to her bed. She broke the kiss, pushing him down on his back with a slight nudge of her fingers against his smooth chest. Michonne eyed his body...tanned and lean yet cut from everything he put it through on a daily basis...his gorgeous length, hard and standing at attention for her...and she felt her pussy clench with anxious need.

"My turn…" she whispered, dropping one knee onto the bed between his legs and leaning her lithe body forward, her dreadlocks cascading over her face, her nipples alert and begging for his mouth.

She was in control, now. And she was going to ride the shit out of him. God, she could hardly wait, but she was determined to take her time. He looked nothing less than completely willing.

All in due time. She was still buzzing, but not drunk. Their secret little romp in Spencer's bed had only been kindling for the fire. Now, muscle memory from her former life and sheer instinct caused her to slow down, enjoy every second of it even more than the first time.

Rick reached up to move her hair away from her face, watching with rapt anticipation as she lowered herself until her lips brushed against the swollen head of his cock. His precum made her cupid's bow glisten. _She was so fuckin' sexy._

He inhaled sharply and bucked his hips at her, so hard he felt like he would burn up from the inside out, caressing her face with his thumb, holding the veil of her hair back...and then his eyes slipped shut as she finally took him into her mouth.

 _Goddamn._ It had been mind-blowing yet all too brief the first time, but this unhurried, scorching reprise was pure agony. She enveloped him between her full, dark lips, licking the precum from his head as she went with her tongue without missing a beat.

" _Fuck_ …" he gasped, his fingers entwining in her locks as she began to slowly, torturously lick and suck him from his balls to his head and back again. A second later, he felt her cool, soft fingers on him, counteracting the heated glory of her mouth as she worked him faster now.

He thrust into her mouth as gently as he could given how fuckin' amazing it felt, letting his head fall back, his mouth open, pushing breath out through his lips as he concentrated solely on the divine sensation of Michonne stroking and sucking his length skillfully. She was gentle, yet her administrations were intense, focused. He was going to come any minute if she kept this up-at the same time that he wanted to stop her and drive all seven inches of his need into her, he became lost in the feel of her tongue, her hands, her dreadlocks spilling over his hand to caress his forearm. He looked up to see that she was perched on her knees between his legs, her gorgeous ass a vision of two round, umber peaks that gave way to the sexiest dip in a woman's spine he had ever seen.

The divide of her cheeks dimpled at the cleft and her waist sloped inward, then downward to exquisitely formed shoulders, and then... _god_...her head bobbing slowly up and down, her long, dark dreadlocks cascading over his arm, her succulent mouth sheathing his cock with so much grace and focus that he had to bite his lip hard to keep from coming in her mouth. He wanted to, _fuck_ he wanted to, but the sight of her this way made Rick reach down to grab hold of her by the forearms. His length slid out of her mouth as he pulled her upwards towards him.

Still laying on his back, he pressed her flush against him and kissed her hard, enjoying the taste of her as he gripped her by the ass cheeks and slid her opening along his thick shaft until his swollen head grazed her heat. "My turn…" he growled as his tongue danced with hers, thrusting into her sex with aggressive force.

She whimpered at him and clutched his shoulders as he bounced her up and down on his dick with two handfuls of her full rump, her breasts and toned abs sliding against his. Her skin, _god_ her skin was divine. And her wet, molten pussy fit around him like an airtight glove. It was heaven, and he didn't want it to ever end.

But Michonne only allowed him the upper hand for so long. _Oh no you don't, Grimes._ Breaking off their desperate kissing, she sat up and braced herself with one elegant hand pressed against his chest...then, with a wicked gleam in her big, dark brown eyes, she began to ride him. The sway of her hips and the tightness of her sex instantly put a spell on him, and Rick gasped throatily, holding on for life as Michonne gracefully worked her ass up and down his shaft. She threw her head back, her dreadlocks like a waterfall, her nails digging into his chest, and reveled in the sensation of him filling her to the brim. He hit an especially sensitive spot every time she sank herself down onto him, again and again like a piston, driving her crazy. "Oh _fuck_ , right _there!_ "

They carried on like this, both of them with their eyes closed in ecstasy, the only sounds penetrating the darkness were their soft panting and their slick flesh slapping against each other in a quiet chorus. All the blood, guts and tragedy in their world forgotten. All their waking nightmares disappeared as they fucked each other senseless, her riding him into the firm mattress, him massaging her breast with one hand and her clit with the other. "Michonne..." he moaned, starting to lose every scrap of self control he still had left.

Rick sat up too and took over, switching with one hand to clutch her ass again, still massaging her clit masterfully with the other. His eyes roamed all over her beautiful face as he pumped into her with a need so great he could do nothing but give in to it.

Michonne laced her fingers into the soft, dark curls at the nape of his neck and held on, loving the way his hand pushed and pulled her ass on top of his cock feverishly. The bouncing and stroking and tightness and hotness and the hungry look in his eyes as he angled his face up to hers and trapped her in his gaze overwhelmed Michonne. She ground herself into him intensely, needing to slow down as her orgasm attacked her without warning. Her pussy clenched and pulled him into her ecstasy, soaking him in her cum.

Feeling her finally coming apart around him drove him over the edge.

He flipped her around until he was laying on top of her, grinding down into her indulgently, desperately seeking release. She breathed against his lips and he went on until the muscles of his abs clenched and his back bowed over with the force of his orgasm. He pulled out quickly, coming hot and thick all over her skin as he ground himself into the crook of her hip, kissing her fiercely, his body undulating involuntarily against hers. It was so intense he had to grip the edge of the bed with one hand. Michonne simply stroked his back and let him ride it out until he went limp on top of her.

Yes, the deal was sealed in both their minds. They definitely wanted much, much more of of each other.

* * *

"You think they're done fuckin' each other's brains out yet?" Daryl's redneck draw sounded out in the darkness, shaking Carol from her semi-sleep. They were sitting on the big porch swing, her back propped against his chest. They'd exhausted their alcohol supply, smoked a million cigarettes and talked shit about everything from how Dale's feet used to stink to falling down the rabbit hole of 'marry, fuck, kill' until they'd both started dozing off, staring at the stars, about twenty minutes ago.

She thought about his question for a moment, remembering that it had probably been a long time for both of them. Hell, it had for any one of them not shacked up with another person in the group. She counted Rick and Michonne lucky. They had the option, and tonight they were finally running with it. She didn't even have a vibrator. It was about damned time for them, though. She knew they'd been pawing at it for a while, so she knew they'd be hard pressed to fully exercise their obvious (to everyone but them, apparently) desire for each other before the sun came up.

"Hell no." Carol deadpanned, not bothering to open her eyes. Daryl chuckled.

"Shit don't make no sense."

"What doesn't?" She challenged.

He shrugged, biting at his lip. "Why'd they wait so long to get it out of their system? They shoulda just bumped uglies a long time ago, hell the world's a pile of shit in a handbasket, anyway. Nothin' else to do."

"Take a nap, Daryl…" Carol reached up blindly to pet him, only making it to his chin. He rolled his eyes but did as she said, settling down with her and taking off his jacket to drape around her in case she was cold. She smiled to herself softly and they both drifted off again.

It wasn't like he was all that bothered. He was fine sleeping out here with Carol small and warm beside him. Let Rick and Michonne enjoy their little sexacapade, or whatever the fuck they were doing up there in the dark. Nothin' else to do.

They'd all be back to the shitty reality of the world again tomorrow regardless.

* * *

" _Shit_ , Michonne…" Rick huffed out, his eyes closing as she teased him, undulating her wet center against the head of his cock while she straddled him. They had asked and answered a few harmless questions, kissing and touching along the way.

He now knew that before the turn, she used to take twenty minutes just to lotion and primp her whole body before she went to bed at night. She now knew that before the turn, he'd never grown a beard (he didn't tell her that it was because Lori didn't much care for the look). He now knew that her breasts were one of the most sensitive zones on her body, and he couldn't wait to get them between his lips and against his tongue again. He confirmed for her that her pert, round rump was one of his favorite places on her. He now knew that before the turn, she had collected empty wine bottles with interesting labels around her high rise apartment, because she always drank too fast to really keep anything for longer than a couple of days. And she now knew that he had had a crush on a pretty, kinda nerdy black girl that lived in his neighborhood when he was sixteen, before he met Lori, and even worked up the nerve to kiss her once, but she moved away suddenly and he never saw her again.

But things quickly got heated, and now she had him at her mercy.

"Answer the question, Grimes."

" _Fuck_...what was it again?"

She chuckled quietly at him and decided to give him a break, stopping her administrations and leaning down to rest her breasts against his chest. She kissed him softly and repeated her question in an enticing whisper. "First time you knew you wanted me?"

Damn, she didn't pull any punches. He opened his eyes and leaned forward, taking another kiss, sitting up with her and holding her in his arms. He wanted to try to think clearly for this. Her delicious (and rapidly becoming addictive) pussy rubbing against his throbbing dick was distracting the hell out of him. All to her design, he had a feeling. He was falling for the wicked gleam in her eyes. It was a side of her he didn't think he'd ever get to see. Hell, he never knew it existed, though he'd imagined more than once what she was like in bed...he had no idea she would turn out to be this amazing.

These feeling coursed through him as he gazed at her and answered her question. The rules were one hundred percent honesty. He hoped she could handle it. He knew she could. Michonne was one of the most stoic people he'd ever met. She gave Daryl a run or his money.

"Well, if I'm honest, it was in the back of my mind for a while. But I knew for certain…" he chuckled at himself, on the verge of feeling bashful about admitting this, but carried on anyway, the look in her eyes pulling the words from his head. "That day you showed up after the prison was taken."

Michonne listened carefully, enraptured by his honesty and the intriguing tone of his husky voice. She could tell that was confessing something to her that he hadn't thought he ever would, so she paid attention.

"I thought I'd never see you again. Things were...real bad. And then there you were. I felt like you saved us, just by showing up. From the day we met, there was always somethin' about you, Michonne..."

God, his voice was so sexy. She let him talk, unable to do anything but let his voice and his eyes make her drip for him. She wanted him again, so badly.

"You didn't scare easy. You and Carl gravitated toward each other like moths to a flame...you got inside my head. And when you found us...I was over the moon." He kissed her softly, exhaling slowly through his nostrils, trying not to let the memory make him any harder than he already was. He was seeing it and feeling it as he told her. "When you went off with Carl to find supplies, I tried to sleep but I couldn't. I was thinkin' of the mess we were in, worried about Carl..but I couldn't get you out of my head."

He remembered that day clearly. When he finally gave in to the thoughts he'd been clamping down hard on, after all the shit they'd been through together. The hot room, the stiff mattress, his weariness. How he tried hard not to slip into fantasy, but really needed an escape from all the tragedy knocking around in his head. So he lay in that hot room and tried to resist the urge to touch himself as he thought of how damned attractive and compelling Michonne was. Then those stupid fuckers who tried to rape his son had shown up, snatching all of that away and kicking him into survival mode.

His words in the present held a tinge of menace in them, but it only made her ache more for him. "What were you thinking?" She had to know, even though she was effectively stealing a turn.

He smirked, reaching down between their bodies to slowly massage her clit with his thumb. She was so wet. He would never get enough of it. She bit her lip as he sparked that aching need again with his fingers, staring at her. "That I wanted to feel myself inside you…" he whispered reverently against her lips. "Feel you cum around me. Taste you." Michonne gasped quietly into his mouth as he dipped two fingers into her, languidly sliding them in and out of her folds, his other hand exploring the peak of her lovely rump softly. He _loved_ how tight she was, how her pussy gripped even his fingers as he started to fuck her slowly with them. "Feel you wet...fuck you for hours…"

Michonne almost lost it when he curved his fingers and stroked her G-spot, but she gathered her fortitude and pulled slightly away from him to shake her head. He didn't play fair. She was going to have to make him pay for it. "Your turn, now."

He looked slightly disappointed, but he was game for one more round. He already knew what he wanted to ask, and he knew he was going to win. He needed to be inside her again. Badly. Rick pulled his fingers out, but kept his thumb massaging her folds gently. She didn't look as if she minded it one bit. "Same question."

She raised an eyebrow at him, but played along, pretending to think. She knew exactly when. It made her sex quiver around his finger just thinking about it. "The day you apologized for offering me to the Governor."

His eyes flashed with the memory, and she knew he could picture the exact moment she was talking about, too. He licked his lips sexily, eyeing her, waiting for her to go on.

"What did you say..?" She uttered, her smooth voice making his dick jump. She smiled, her face radiant. He had to laugh raspily when she mimicked his voice and Southern drawl. "'Musta been somethin' else, then.'"

But she wasted no time with her follow up question, wanting him now more than ever.

"My turn again…" she exhaled through her thick, enticing lips, sinking herself into him with her elegant, flexible body. He felt her center on his dick again, and he thrust involuntarily, eager for her next question. It didn't matter what she asked. He would fuck her while he answered if he had to. He _had_ to. He was hard as steel. Michonne leaned in close and kissed him, massaging his loose, damp curls with her fingers. "How do you want me right now, Rick?"

He didn't even have to think about it. Rick's hand slid from her clit up to her throat, trailing little drops of her precum along her skin like tiny stamps of her aching need for him. He ran his damp thumb over her neck and gripped her there, angling her face down to his just a bit more. "Get on your knees."

His rough command made her pussy spasm deliciously and she obliged without hesitation. Michonne lifted herself off of him and crawled down on all fours, her hands sliding under her pillows to grip the sheets as she produced her glorious bottom for him to do with as he pleased.

Rick's jaw clenched at the exciting visual her gorgeous body presented for him, and he slid his hands along her supple skin until one of them was lacing into her hair of their own will. He used the other to grip one of her ass cheeks possessively, parting it slightly from its twin. The tension of his hold on her made her shiver. He entered her smoothly, closing his eyes at the phenomenal feel of her tight canal pulling him in, enveloping him. He began to thrust, and let all his hesitation blow away in the slight breeze streaming through one of her open windows.

After a few agonizingly pleasurable pushes of himself in and out of her, he got a strong hunch and lifted his big hand, letting it fall again quickly against her flesh with a soft _slap_. Michonne moaned, undulating her beautiful ass against him as he pumped her, and hissed: "Do it again."

He obliged, smacking her ass lightly twice more, grasping her flesh between his fingers with the last delivery. They fucked like this, his fingers entwined in her thick hair, her back arched in a picturesque curve, her ass slamming against his pelvis as his long, hard, hot cock drilled into her over and over and over again. The visual of it was mesmerizing to him.

They fucked until she had to sit up, overcome with lust, and press her back against his chest. Her thighs bounced on top of his thighs, her sex was so wet and swollen and slippery that he had to grasp her hips in both hands to keep her from sliding right off of him.

He angled his face down to kiss her, diving his tongue inside her mouth as he pumped into her ferociously, driven mad with some kind of volatile desire for her that quicked his heartbeat and made his cock feel like it was on fire. Then he switched up, letting go of her ass and wrapping his arms around her torso, keeping her as close to him as possible while he plundered her juicy pussy. He huffed and moaned in her ear, and she gave him all she could, swooning at the feel of his strong, warm hands massaging her breasts as he pistoned into her sex like a fucking warrior.

Finally, she quaked and rumbled around his cock, sliding herself up and down with delicious determination. " _Oh my god_ , I'm coming...Rick! _Don't stop!_ "

Falling in love with the way she seemed to be unable to stop herself from announcing when she was coming, Rick fucked her like he was a starving man desperately in need of sustenance, nipping and sucking at her neck, his left hand on her throat and his right hand grasping at her supple breast. She came tumbling down on his swollen phallus, her tight walls clenching and unclenching involuntarily. He almost swooned, slowing his pace, grinding into her indulgently, and then his orgasm took hold of him and he buckled over her yet again. Michonne's face was pressed into her pillows, her hands gripping the sheets, her ass angled up to his pelvis, making him buck into her with desperate need. He remembered to pull out just in time (they really needed to find and hoard some condoms), driving his ejaculating cock between her ass cheeks, still gripping her throat in his big hand.

When it was over, Rick collapsed on top of her, breathing hard. "You're gonna kill me," he rasped into her hair, his breath breezing through her locks until it caressed her neck.

She grinned into her pillow. "There are worse ways to die…"

They cleaned themselves up and crawled their exhausted, naked bodies between her cool sheets.

She was going to be sore as fuck the next day, which was already creeping up on them underneath the horizon, but she pushed the thought away and snuggled against him. He was warm, and she was still quivery but sated. It had been a damned good night. She wanted more nights like this. More _anything_ like this. She couldn't help it.

He wanted it too, and he vowed to himself to make sure that he let her know that, whenever he could.

Rick and Michonne eventually fell asleep, curled around each other in the dark of her bedroom.

Something like happiness stirred in his chest when she draped her thigh across him and let him bury his face into her neck. He wanted to tell her. That he was so fuckin' crazy in love with her. But he didn't want to make this awkward. He loved her, and tonight had only cemented his intense feelings for her over all these months.

He pulled Michonne in close to him, nuzzling her hair and wrapping his arms around her as they lay on their backs.

No, he had no idea what the future held. Before he met Michonne, that used to terrify him. Now, with her luscious body draped against his, he felt like he could face whatever was coming. All he needed was her by his side.

It took him so long to come to grips with it, but now that he had, he didn't plan on letting her go.


	3. with a vengeance

_don't let me in with no intention to keep me_

 _jesus christ, don't be kind to me_

 _honey, don't feed me_

 _i will come back_

 _don't you hear me_

 _howlin' outside your door?_

-Hozier, "It Will Come Back"

* * *

When Rick opened his eyes the next morning, he could hardly believe he wasn't still dreaming. The first thing he saw, with his vision still adjusting to the pale sunlight coming in through her windows, was the elegant slope of her left shoulder, gently rising and falling across his view to the rhythm of her deep breathing.

Michonne.

She was here. In his arms.

Rick became aware of her thick tangle of dreadlocks, soft and yet pleasantly scratchy against his skin, piled on or winding around his shoulder where she rested her head. And the luscious weight of her body, still against his, like they'd been all night. In varying positions, he now recalled. He also recalled being semi-hard pretty much all night. And she remained wet...they didn't move very often, but when they did, he could feel her, and it was enough to coax him partially out of the clutches of deep slumber. Steamy and tender, brushing against his thigh as he spooned her, or slick and damp, sliding across his twitching length as she draped her thigh across his hips. Whenever it happened, he was compelled to wake up just enough to nuzzle his nose against her or kiss her skin...her shoulder...her earlobe...the underside of her breast.

At one point he vaguely remembered sliding his arm around her smooth torso in the silent semi-darkness, his eyes still closed and his head still foggy with a dense mixture of exhaustion and arousal. He kissed her neck as he snaked his hand down her silky stomach muscles towards the opening of her sex to gently massage her damp curls with the pads of his fingers. The languid, hypnotic rhythm of the action lulled him back to sleep, his manhood resting against her ass cheeks as he pressed her close to him.

Now, in the cool morning light, he realized that must've been their last position, because his fingers were still there, though they'd long stopped their movement. She was still cradled against him, though his hold on her had loosened somewhat in their sleep.

Rick took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and tightening his grip on her once again. He kissed her neck as he resumed his gentle massaging of her soft (and incredibly, still damp) curls. He breathed on her, burying his face in her dreads and grinding his hips slowly into her, his now rapidly hardening dick pressing into the cleft just above her ass cheeks. He'd been dreaming of her and craving her all night, he realized. He wanted her again now. Something so fierce it made him throb.

They only had a matter of precious little time before Judith would wake up, potentially rousing everyone in the house. He was sure the Bobbsey Twins had gone in for a late night, Carol no doubt making good on her promise to leave him and Michonne alone to do their thing. Those two were probably back in the house by now, which meant he'd have to fuck her quickly...and quietly.

After experiencing how vocal she was, the prospect of doing his best to keep her quiet now made him so hard he ached from the bottom of his scrotum to the pit of his toned stomach.

The faint sounds of a brand new morning outside wafted in on a cool breeze that relieved some of the intense body heat between them. Michonne woke up, feeling Rick's scorching tongue on the skin of her shoulder, then his plump lips kissing her in its wake. He kissed a steaming trail from her shoulder to her neck before whispering near her ear: "Mornin'..."

Her body instantly reacted to the unmistakable intent in his gravelly drawl, which was thick and deep from sleep. Then she took in the feel of his lean, heated body curved around hers, his strong arms wrapped around her, his breath caressing her tingling neck. Her tender sex had been aching all night, sore but still trapped in the thralls of need even as she slept.

At last, she was able to sleep without nightmares of all the shit she'd been through since the turn. Instead, the memories of how damned good Rick felt thrusting into her had been dancing through her head in the dark, in his arms. And they were fueled by him being so close, holding her no matter where they moved across the bed. She felt him, every now and then, kissing her or nuzzling his face into her skin, his breath hot and his lips moist. She felt him touching her just before sunrise, and was very tempted to wake up and angle herself against him so that he could enter her. But she was sore, and she needed as much of the remaining couple of hours or so that they had to sleep.

Right now, though, she didn't care about her soreness. She only relished the fact that he was so hard and _she_ was so torturously slick, so achingly tight for him, pressed against his warm thigh. Rick's thick finger slithered it's way into her steamy folds, and she gasped softly when he touched her painfully swollen clit. He massaged it slowly, his touch feather-light at first, and then more insistent, his erection straight as a rod, nuzzling at the apex of her ass cheeks as he pressed her still closer. Michonne sighed, licking her lips and arching her ass deeper into his tight embrace. Rick tensed up, grunting quietly and rolling his hips into her when he felt himself nearly enveloped between her plump cheeks. "Morning..." she breathed.

"I thought about you all night." Rick confessed, his stomach fluttering with the heat of lust, remembering what they'd done the night before. How open she was with him, how incredibly sexy she was. How she submitted to him without question, yet told him exactly what she wanted from him with her eyes and her body and her smooth voice. She was something else. And she was _his_. Alone, behind closed doors in this bed amid the heady aroma of sex, the most intriguing woman he had ever met was all his. He had a long, hard day to face today, but he'd be damned if he wasn't gonna do it with a bit more swagger in his step.

"I want you again." He couldn't help breathing out huskily.

Michonne felt her whole body stand at attention, trapped against him. Her breasts were screaming for his mouth, the mere memory of his steaming tongue circling her erect nipples making her clit jump underneath his delicate touch. His other hand had found it's way around her throat, cradling her against him.

He exhaled long and hard, needing her again. _One more time_ , he thought, burning up, lost in her, so fuckin' _hard_ for her.

He needed to feel her quake around him one more time before he had to go out and face the world again. She smelled so good, the enticing scent of coconut oil from last night now mingling with the scent of their lovemaking. He knew as soon as he stepped back out into the world again, he'd only smell the scent of blood, death, and dirt. He wanted to breathe her in as much as he could, for as long as possible.

She turned around within his embrace, his hands sliding across her skin and his hold on her loosening reluctantly. She gazed into his gorgeous eyes, leaning in to kiss his pink lips. This had only been their first night together, and already she felt like she could spend the rest of the day (and the next night) doing exactly this: Dancing around the edge of each other, drunk on each other, then plunging into each other like it was the last thing they'd get to do before the world collapsed again. But they didn't have the time. So she gave in, her soreness be damned. He was staring at her intensely, fire in his radiant eyes, his lips parted and angling for hers. _Fuck...yes...just one more time._

"Take it slow..." she whispered, kissing him again.

The submissiveness in her voice made him swallow hard. He wanted to hear her voice like that again...when she was coming. It was yet another side of her he had never expected, but fell instantly in love with. Jesus, she was gonna be the death of him. She was right. What a hell of a way to die.

He wanted to be gentle with her this time. He knew she must be pretty sore, hell he was aching in places he hadn't ached in ages, himself. But he was also aching for _her_ , and he could tell by how enticingly wet she was that she was aching for him, too.

His head clouded with desire, Rick nodded slowly. She was dripping wet. He was like a loaded pistol. But he took his time, pausing to crush his lips against hers. She sighed into his mouth as his tongue dove for hers. But then (to her surprise) he kissed her sweetly, lapping at her slowly, enjoying the taste of her while he still had her to himself. Their lips made soft sounds in tandem with the rustling leaves of the tree outside her windows. Then he disappeared from sight, kissing a blazing hot trail down her body to her sex, where he gently pulled her legs open with his free hand, his other hand massaging her nipple with his thumb.

 _Speaking of the taste of her._ His mouth watered as he parted her thighs so that her deliciously wet pussy was exposed to the morning light. He stroked his other thumb along her skin. He had been wrong. She wasn't smooth from head to toe. Though her skin was definitely a valley of silky slopes and curves and toned muscles, she had little marks from combat here and there. The most precious to him being the scar from Merle's bullet on her left thigh. The wound that brought her to him. He fingered it for a moment, remembering that sweltering day like it was yesterday, still feeling it and now very grateful for it.

He kissed her there reverently before moving on and kissing a trail across her skin until he came to the cleft between her pelvis and thigh. He became mesmerized by the sight of her, laid bare for him. She was a radiant, rich brown. Her thighs and hips sloped down toward a small patch of curly, damp black hairs crowning a merlot flower that enclosed a dripping, bright pink clit. Michonne moaned under her breath at the behest of the thumb that massaged her spongy, erect nipple. She undulated herself against him, widening her legs, causing him to pull his eyes away from the glistening, slightly swollen lips between her thighs to take in the full sight of her above him. She was writhing restlessly under his outstretched arm. Her eyes were closed, her elegant hands cupping his tan forearm, her legs spread for him, her dreads splayed out across her pillow.

She was a vision, his dusky-skinned warrior, and the sight of her like this sparked a craving in him that drove him crazy. He wasted no more time. Rick dipped his head back down and licked her swollen lips, tonguing his way between them. He buried his face into her juices, licking them from her skin into his mouth, further hungered by the tangy-sweet taste of her.

Michonne tightened the grip of her cool fingers around Rick's forearm, feeling the veins underneath his skin constrict as he circled his thumb around her plump nipple and slowly, indulgently ate her pussy. His tongue was feverish, and the way he used it to massage her lips, coupled with the way he used his thumb to massage her inner thigh, made her practically melt for him. She couldn't stop herself from reaching down with one hand to run her fingers through the soft curls of his hair as his head moved up and down at a hypnotizing pace between her legs.

But he didn't intend for her to cum yet. He needed to feel it all around him. His dick was yearning to be inside of her.

Rick's eyes rose to hers as he gradually stopped tonguing her, a lock of his thick hair falling down to touch his lashes as the glare of ravenous desire burned in his eyes. It was getting long again, and it was sexy. Michonne was quivering from what he'd done to her, pinned by his gaze, ready for him now. And he was ready for her.

He crawled back up to her and kissed her hungrily before finally answering the call of her hard nipples by bending over to lick one of them into his mouth. Michonne moaned in a desperate whisper, licking the taste of herself from her lips as Rick sucked at her aching breast, arching her back, angling herself into him. He let her nipple go with a soft 'pop' and maneuvered them both on their sides, her ass tucked against him where it belonged. He would never get enough of the weight of it on him; he'd been wondering and fantasizing about it for so long.

Rick reached down to part her legs again as he eased himself inside of her. He wanted to watch.

As soon as he felt her delicious heat sheathing his painfully hard cock, his hips rocked into her against his will...she felt _so good_. He forced himself to slow down and take his time, making love to her now, massaging her clit as his throbbing length slid in and out of her slick pussy. His balls quivered with the urge to speed up, but he forced himself to do so gradually, holding her close to him. Michonne was a quivering mess, overwhelmed with how thick he was, how hard her walls clenched around him every time he moved inside of her. Rick watched their bodies come together and slide apart again, captivated by their contrasting skin tones. "Cum for me, Michonne." He pleaded gruffly, speeding up in earnest now, knowing that any tinge of pain she might feel would only aid in her release. She made such sweet, soft sounds for him as her plump ass bounced against his thighs. God, she was so wet, and so fuckin' tight, his eyes slipped closed and he bit her shoulder as gently as he could as he lost himself in her.

Michonne, having been playful and teasing the night before, was now trembling at his touch, lost in the feel of him pumping in and out of her and massaging her clit until a white-hot orgasm ripped through her body violently. " _Oh god! Mmmmmm..._ " She slipped into a whisper-soft moan as her walls quaked around him, drenching his length in her cum.

Rick watched her fall apart, plundering her in earnest now, his own release dangerously close. She was so beautiful. He'd always thought so when she smiled, or laughed, or glared at him with all that damned hope in her eyes. But now, trembling and panting, sweat glistening on her smooth, dark skin in the pale morning sunlight, she was more beautiful and captivating than ever.

He felt himself cumming suddenly, lost in the vision of Michonne in his arms and the feel of her wet walls gripping his length over and over again. He pulled out, grasping his pulsing cock with his hand to finish himself off and collect as much of his steaming cum as he could. He refused to separate them, though, cumming against her stomach as he involuntarily grinded his hips into her. Michonne sighed with guilty pleasure as she felt his seed gushing out of him, into his fist, spilling through his fingers onto her warm skin.

When it was over, Rick kissed her lethargically, all across her neck and shoulders. They lay in a pool of body heat, sweat and the cooling aftermath of both their orgasms. But they didn't care. He couldn't see her face, but she was smiling sleepily into her pillow, at peace, not wanting to move an inch. She couldn't see his, but he was gazing at the curve of her shoulder, thinking that if she would let him, he would make love to her like that every night until he didn't have any more nights left to be alive.

Eventually they moved, and he gently cleaned her of his seed with his shirt (he'd found it on the floor near his side of the bed). Then he pulled her right back into his arms again for just a few more minutes of peace.

"I...need us to do this again," she said quietly after a little while of them enjoying each other's company in silence. She couldn't stop the words from coming out. It was either confess this or the other thing...the scary thing. The thing she knew it was too soon to send out into the ether.

Rick was silent for a beat, his heart thumping with relief. He felt exactly the same.

"Me too." Came his simple reply. And, after another moment's hesitation, he told himself ' _fuck it'_ and added: "Every night, if you'll have me."

Her smile grew. She was struck by how those words made her feel, but she only replied: "You got yourself a deal, Grimes."

Chuckling throatily at her perpetual coolness, Rick turned her around and nudged her lips open with his, diving in for more long, slow kissing that made everything outside of himself and Michonne disappear. He moved their faces around each other's, his tongue dancing with hers, her lips so soft and damp. Every goddamned night, he wanted this. And she was going to allow it. He had no idea what he'd done to get so lucky, but he would take it without complaint. He pressed her into the bed, now taking shelter between her legs, already feeling like he could go another round. _God_ , he wanted to go another round. And another, and another.

She smiled into his mouth as she affectionately matched his kissing. _Insatiable,_ she thought somewhat smugly as she wrapped her long, toned arms and legs around him. She didn't mind at all. She felt very nearly the same, although her poor, thoroughly exhausted vagina definitely needed a break for now. And a nice, steamy shower.

Alexandria had been torn apart and was still being rebuilt, they had lost so many, and there were still more problems to be solved, more mending to do. They still weren't totally safe. But right now, with Rick's lean, warm body nestled between her thighs and his lips on hers, she felt like it was the safest and most at home she'd been since everything went to hell. He moved down to kiss her neck, getting them dangerously close to going down the path to more fucking.

And right on cue it seemed, just as Rick was starting to languidly lick at her nipples, the baby monitor crackled to life with Judith's cranky noises. She would realize how hungry she was and start crying in earnest soon. Then their private little world would be shattered for the day, and they'd have to get up. They both had a long list of shit to do.

Rick sighed hard and slowly stopped what he was doing, lifting his head to steal several more quick kisses from her tender lips before reluctantly rolling off of her and lying on his back. They both stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, listening to Judith fussing around in her makeshift crib from across the hall through the monitor in Rick's jeans. He was palming his dick again, lamenting the loss of one more chance to be inside of her. He'd have to wait all day, now.

Michonne turned to him and offered a weary smile. "Come on, stud. Day's waiting."

He turned back to gaze into her eyes. When the sunlight hit them he could see into their umber depths with perfect clarity. He kissed her yet again, tenderly, and sat up.

Michonne yawned and stretched out, feeling every muscle in her body protest. Damn. She had forgotten what this felt like. The fatigue that sets in after good sex was both foreign after so long and very, very satisfying. She was sore all over. She sat up too as Rick stood with difficulty and bent over to retrieve his jeans.

She watched him, admiring his impressive body. His bare ass disappearing into the jeans (his underwear forgotten somewhere by the foot of the bed), the baby monitor still tucked into the back pocket, Judith's noises increasing in volume now.

When he turned back to her, leaning on air the way only he could, barechested, curls hanging in his eyes, she was struck again. Fuck...she loved him. That notion simultaneously terrified and thrilled her.

"How do you wanna play this?" He asked, zipping up and buckling his belt. They stared at each other, and Michonne sighed, gesturing for him to stop looking so sexy and serious and sit next to her again. She draped the sheet around her bare breasts and ran a hand through her dreadlocks to get them out of her face.

Rick came to her without hesitation, sliding next to her as she scooted up to the edge of the bed. He couldn't stop himself from nuzzling his nose and mouth into her neck, her dreads softly caressing his stubble. He wrapped his arms around her waist, waiting.

"We don't have to 'play it' _any_ way. Let's just feel it out, okay?" She angled her face so he was forced to straighten up and look at her again. "This is the one thing I don't need us to strategize."

His brow furrowed but he didn't answer, staring into her eyes. The enchantment of their long, amazing night of lovemaking was beginning to cool and settle, and the harsh reality of the world they lived in was seeping into the room to claim them again. Michonne paused, thinking carefully about how she wanted to say this. She didn't want them to stop being _them_. The way they did things just worked, more often than not. She had worked hard to build that with him, and he didn't take it for granted. They were good partners. But she also wanted much more of what they had last night and this morning. Would letting the others in ruin that? She had no idea. Part of her thought it didn't matter...she knew she couldn't turn back now. She didn't want to slink around in the shadows hiding her feelings anymore, at the same time as another part was rising up to caution her not to move too fast.

"Rick, I don't care what anyone thinks of what we're doing," she gestured between the two of them with her index finger, reaching up with the same digit to scratch at his stubble. His expression softened, but he still looked slightly worried about where she was going with this. She quickly reassured him. "I just want it to be good. And I want us to still be... _us_. Do you get that?"

He nodded, looking down momentarily to see that her naked feet were exposed from under the covers, resting delicately on the hardwood floor. He suddenly had the urge to reach down and rub her feet for her...a feeling of such tenderness and affection for her that it was scary...after being in fight or flight mode for almost two years, here he was. A man prepared to get on his knees and rub his lover's feet like it was just another day in any normal relationship. Would they now be in a relationship? Would that look any different than what they already had?

Michonne was important to him. Very important. But not just because she was his people. She was also his heart, he realized. Right up there with his children. Her body, her mind, her soul, the fight in her...he couldn't lose her. Ever. She had attached herself to his heart, and now that they'd finally consummated their feelings, his had grown tremendously in depth and it was scary as hell.

"Yeah, I do." He looked up into her eyes again. The sunlight made her look almost ethereal. Damn, she was beautiful. "That's what I want, too." _And a hell of a lot more_ , he wanted to add, but didn't. He had no idea how to broach that subject, or what 'more' meant for them besides making love whenever they could. And Judith was waiting.

"So, are we?" She couldn't help asking in a soft whisper that betrayed her feelings more than anything else she'd said to him in the last twelve hours. "Still us…?"

He stared into her eyes, determined that she hear and perfectly understand him. " _With a vengeance_."

Michonne nodded, her heart in her throat. Looking into his stormy blues...yeah. She believed him. If he kept on staring at her that way...that very 'Rick Grimes' way he did...that way that made her feel like there was no one else in the room for him but her...that way he'd _always_ stared at her (only she hadn't an inkling of just how accurate that reality was for him until last night)...then, yes. They would still be them.

With a vengeance.

Rick leaned in and kissed her passionately again.

Judith finally started crying as they were pulling apart.

* * *

Two hours later, Rick finally stepped out onto the front porch, freshly showered with a modest breakfast of fruit and powdered eggs in his belly. His body felt relaxed, but he was mentally prepared for the grueling day ahead.

Daryl was there waiting for him, smoking a cigarette, smirking at him through his slick brown hair. Rick had managed to avoid him and Carol both as the morning got under way. Everyone moved at their own pace, orbiting around the house and somehow missing each other. He thought that might've been for the best. But now it was time to face the music.

"Carol bet me you'd be up there for at least another day…" the stoic tracker deadpanned, blowing the smoke out through his nostrils and leaning over the railing to spit into the grass. "Looks like she's gonna hafta ante up."

Rick fixed his adopted brother with a poker face, tucking his ubiquitous, off-white button-down shirt into his jeans and checking that his thigh holster was secure. "What'd you win?"

Daryl shrugged, now spitting onto his fingers and putting his cigarette out with them before stuffing the half-finished butt into his front vest pocket. "I dunno, probably cookies or a casserole or some shit. She loves to bake."

Rick rubbed his clean-shaven chin, frowning and shifting on his feet. "You could just ask her for a casserole any time."

He was actually slightly annoyed by them betting on how long he and Michonne would be together, now that he was sober and already missing her company. She'd gone off with Carol to drop off Judith and pick up Carl at the Monroe home (Maggie and Glenn were staying there now, another thing they announced last night to the smaller group). The absence of Michonne's presence, scent, smooth voice and calm, collected attitude was something he always felt, whether he realized it in the past or not, but now it was more than noticeable.

Daryl nodded in a 'fair enough' gesture and stood up fully to stretch out, reaching down to pick up his temporary replacement bow. He hated it. It was okay, but he didn't want to get used to it. It couldn't hold a candle to his old girl. It was shittily made and he'd had to modify it to get it even halfway up to par. The arrows were pretty good though, so there was that. They found it on a run a couple of weeks ago, but he was keeping his eye out for something special. He'd find it, he was determined. And, eventually...he'd find that couple of stupid assholes who took it and his bike.

Back to Rick and his dick. "Look man, I ain't gonna get in your business. But you should know, Carol's convinced this shit was written in the stars or somethin', so watch out. She bakes and plays matchmaker, now. And you know she don't do nothin' half-assed."

"I'm aware. I've had her cookies." Rick agreed.

They both chuckled and then the conversation was done. Rick was grateful. He could always count on Daryl to get to the point and move on. But it did seem that Carol's 'enthusiasm' might be something he'd have to worry about. He cared for Carol, a lot. He truly did. But she was sometimes unpredictable. Sometimes, that was nothing but a good thing. But sometimes...well...the last thing he wanted was to spook Michonne. She had said she didn't care what people thought, but gossip is still gossip, this was a small town, and there was not much else to do outside of the hard stuff. Things could get reckless fast. He had learned that the hard way with Jessie. Speaking of Jessie:

If he were honest with himself, the thought of Carol letting Jessie in on the news before Rick could somehow balance everything out was almost enough to give him a headache. And the next thought, that he wanted to ( _needed_ to) tell Michonne _himself_ about that stupid kiss gave him a pang of guilt. He should be honest with her. Knowing Michonne, it was possible she wouldn't care, so long as he wasn't misleading Jessie. But at present, Rick couldn't honestly say that he _wasn't_. He'd been out of his head when they'd first arrived, but he had no excuse for that kiss. He was just...trying to find something, _anything_ , to escape from what they were going through. Just for a moment. He _should_ have found that escape in Michonne from the get-go, but he'd been a coward. He needed to set things right, now. He owed them both that much.

Rick and Daryl made their way out into the neighborhood together, walking side-by-side at a leisurely pace. The slightly shorter man rubbed his fingers together at his sides, forcing his mind to put thoughts of the women in his life aside for now to focus on the day ahead. "You helping out at the gates today? We might need you."

For weeks now, they'd been toiling like a prison chain gang on the walls around the community, ever since the walker herd had all but destroyed them. Tobin and Heath had come up with a shrewd plan to scavenge for supplies around the now empty rock quarry. They'd done just that after easily dispatching the few loitering walkers remaining from the exodus. Then they used the arsenal Sasha and Abraham had found to re-stock the arms closet, but Rick also had them rigging the entire perimeter around the walls with hidden traps and sniper bunkers. They'd worked their way around to the gates, and they were on track to finish the job over the next few days. He was glad it had all worked out, and grateful for everyone's hard work. He didn't express it much, but he was.

Daryl shook his head and spit again, swinging his arms with his bow slung across his shoulder. "Nah. Gonna head out with Aaron, we still need some stuff for the pantry. Might be gone for a couple of days." The gruff exterior of Rick's friend gave way to a kind of shifty vulnerability as he continued, walking with his eyes squinting into the sun. "Thought maybe...I dunno, maybe we'll see who we can pick up along the way."

Rick took this in, nodding at one or two people who were up and about as the sun crept slowly higher in the sky. Daryl wasn't gonna waste any time putting Maggie and Spencer's decrees into action, then. He didn't know how he felt about that just yet.

"You alright with that?" Daryl asked as if reading his mind, stealing a glance at him through the ever-present veil of unkempt hair.

He had been really itching go back out there and do what he did best-hunt. He wanted to hunt for supplies, hunt for a better bow, hunt for more people. Hunting was what came naturally to him. It was his way of helping build and protect his community. He'd rather be doing that than walling himself in, waiting for trouble to come find them. He respected Rick for doing what needed doing at home base, but he felt a hundred times more helpful out there in the open. He didn't subscribe to Deana's brand of 'pie in the sky' mumbo jumbo, but his gut always told him she was right about one thing: Without growing the community, practically speaking, they wouldn't be doing themselves any favors in terms of making this place last.

Last night had been the best news he'd had in weeks, next to Glenn making it back to them alive. He and Aaron had talked about it all night, with some input from Carol. They had plans; they were gonna do it right this time. Daryl had convinced the soft-hearted dude to stop feeling sorry for himself and man up. This shit was important-they needed _people_ as much as they needed weapons and breach-proof walls. So some of 'em out there were screwed up and dangerous, but they had to just deal with that and carry on.

He thought Rick was starting to come around to that finally, what with the announcement at the baby shower thing and all. But the look on his friend's world weary face now said somethin' different.

Rick hesitated at length, thinking, before finally answering honestly: "Right now, the walls are my number one priority." He stopped walking, shifting on his feet and looking both ways before turning to face the man. "But...I get it. I do."

Daryl nodded, accepting it as all the affirmation he was gonna get right now. Rick was willing to compromise, but he'd still need some working on to fully come around. He'd figured as much.

"You know we'll need more people if we're goin' after the Wolves."

Rick blinked at him, surprised. But not really. He hadn't explicitly told anyone his plans except Michonne, but Daryl knew him better than most people. He nodded reluctantly. "Yeah. I guess you're right about that. We just don't want any dead weight."

"We'll take care of it, man. I'm not fuckin' around this time."

"Alright. Go do what you gotta do, then. I'll get Carl to help out with me today. He's been spending too much of his time with Enid lately, anyway."

Daryl chuckled and shook his head with amusement. "Shit, it's like everybody's a cat in heat all of a sudden."

"Jesus, don't put those thoughts into my head."

"He's a fifteen year old kid, Rick. He's been dragged through hell and back. We're behind walls. He's entitled by now, don't ya think?"

Damn. He was right. Carl was a teenager now, and teenagers had hormones, regardless of the apocalypse they lived in. "True enough." He scratched at his chin, thinking of how fast his son was growing up, seemingly out of nowhere. "I still don't like it."

"Just talk to him." He shrugged. "Couldn't hurt nothin'. I'll catch you later."

"Couple of days, tops, Daryl." The younger man was already walking off, but he nodded in acknowledgment.

"Two days, I gotcha. Tell Carol I'm sick of cookies. I want apple cobbler. Gonna bring her back all the shit."

"You know how to make cobbler?" Rick called after him, scrunching his face up in disbelief.

Daryl turned around and walked backwards long enough to retort: "Even redneck white trash like me had a grandma, dude."

That settled, they parted ways; Daryl sauntering off to pick up Aaron while Rick headed to the gates to meet up with Heath and Tobin.

* * *

" _What?_ " Michonne rolled her eyes, despite the smile breaking across her thick lips.

She and Carol had been walking in silence, Carol cradling Judith close to her, on their way to Spencer, Glenn, and Maggie's place. Michonne had been enjoying the stroll, the cool, breezy morning, and watching their community wake up. She was feeling relaxed and confident thanks to Rick's magical dick (and tongue, she couldn't forget), a nice shower and some fruit and 'eggs' for breakfast. She'd made it while Rick was in the shower and left it for him, needing to get a move on with her day. She was training today, but she needed to see Carl and catch up with Maggie. Still, their conversation from this morning replayed in her head, making her look forward to the minute she could be alone with Rick again. So, other than sporadically reaching over to play with Judith, she didn't feel any need to fill the silence.

But Carol had been shooting slightly smug, slightly curious gazes at her since they left the house. Now Michonne was beginning to become distracted by it. She already knew 'what', but she asked anyway, just to get Carol to stop looking at her like that and spit it out.

"You look good, Michonne." Was all the gray-haired woman offered, but her slight smile was very telling. When Michonne's only answer was to cut her an enigmatic look, she shrugged, seemingly unfazed. "You know...rested. Glowing, even."

"Okay." Michonne stopped walking and planted her feet, turning to Carol to cross her arms and wait. "Speak your mind."

"I am."

"Well, thank you for the compliment, but what's _really_ on your mind?"

Carol squinted off into the distance, her smile fading. They were a few steps away from the Monroe house. Michonne waited. "Look, thing is...I'm glad you and Rick got together last night. It's been long enough of you two dancing around each other-which everyone noticed, by the way."

"Bullshit." Michonne challenged, smiling sweetly. "What else you got?"

Carol laughed cheerlessly. "Boy, you cut the cream right outta the custard, don't you?" She sighed, adjusting Judith on her hip. "What I mean is: Just because we propped Maggie and Spencer up as the mouthpiece of this community, that doesn't mean you... _and_ Rick...don't have very critical roles to play."

"I know that already. He knows that."

"Does he?"

"Carol. Stop being cryptic. Spit it out."

"If he's going after the Wolves, that means more people will die. There's no getting around it." Carol said seriously, her steel gray eyes narrowed. "Now, I believe you when you say he's going along with our plan, but...well, we both know you're about the only person around here he'll listen to without question."

"So you want me to what?" Michonne frowned deeply, feeling her sense of peace and satisfaction slipping from her quickly.

"Just...be a bridge, that's all. You know how Rick is."

"So do you, Carol. It was a miracle he doesn't hold what we did-keeping him in the dark-against us. Now you want me to be your spy?"

"Noooo!" Carol laughed loudly, now, waving her off, shaking her head at her friend in disbelief. But Michonne wasn't buying it. "No, nothing like _that_. But you _know_ you've got his ear, more than any of us. Don't let him go out there alone, or with our only good people. Help him think it through first."

Michonne sighed and bit her lip, thinking. One the one hand, she was extremely annoyed with Carol right now for suggesting that she use her still-evolving relationship with Rick to funnel their wishes into his brain like he was a fuckin' lab rat. On the other...she couldn't deny that she was concerned about his plan (which he hadn't told her in detail, yet) to go after the crazy murderers who killed so many of their people. And, even though Rick could hardly admit it right now, they were _all_ their people. But Michonne had absolutely no plans to try to be some sort of bridge between Maggie and Spencer. They would _all_ work together to solve this shit, and that was all there was to it. She wouldn't betray Rick's trust that way. Carol should know better. And it was pretty damned funny to her that the older woman was even asking to be kept in the loop, considering her little bout of secret plotting with Rick and Daryl when they first got here. The one that would've gotten them kicked out if Michonne hadn't acted when she did.

Choosing not to be petty, she answered Carol carefully. "I'd rather have Rick involved with things the way he should be. Present and accountable, like all of us. And he's getting there. He'll fill us in on his plans when he's ready-when _we're_ ready. I trust him with that. Don't you?"

Carol nodded, but the look in her eyes suggested Michonne had confirmed something else for her. Something that had gone unasked, but that she had clearly been searching for an answer to.

"You're too good for him. I hope he knows that." She offered a smile as a truce.

Michonne hesitated, but smirked in return. "He knows."

Judith was getting fussy, anxious to be somewhere already. "The Little Asskicker here is ready to play. Let's go."

They headed to the house in affable silence, both of them cooing at Judith along the way to keep her from getting too restless. The kid seemed to recognize this house, having been carted here often enough over the last several weeks to visit Maggie and Glenn. She giggled and gurgled and crashed her little fists together as they got closer.

Michonne was bothered, but she could handle it. Right now, she chose to take everything (that she could) in stride. She didn't want to sabotage what she had with Rick, by any means. Not by plotting with Carol, not by trying to trick him into doing things 'their way', and certainly not by keeping things from him.

But anyway, her more pressing concern was what she was going to tell Carl. He wasn't a stupid kid. He was more than simply observant. And he was as insatiably curious as his dad. He was going to ask her about last night before Rick even worked up the gumption to broach the subject, if he even intended to just yet. She knew it. That was the Grimes way-endless questions. She didn't want to step on Rick's toes, but not knowing his mind where his son was concerned on the particular subject of their...coupling...made her feel anxious. And she certainly didn't want to lie to the kid.

She hoped Carl wouldn't mind his friend getting together with his father. She hoped that wouldn't put a strain on their relationship. She hoped he didn't think she was trying to make moves on his mother's territory. Jesus-far from it. She thought of Andre without warning, but quickly clamped down on the painful memory of her darling son giggling and gurgling just like Judith was now as the walked up the porch steps to knock on the door.

Ready or not, this was life now. Time to make it work.

* * *

 **A/N:** THANK YOU ALL _**SO, SO MUCH**_ FOR YOUR AMAZING REVIEWS! I'm so happy you're enjoying as much as I am! I wanted to keep writing on this chapter, but didn't want to keep you waiting any longer, so consider this more of a 'part one'. Gonna focus on the next round of my Sleepy Hollow fic while you guys feast on this, but don't worry, more still to come!

Next up: Maggie snitches on Carl. Carl gives both his dad and Michonne something to think about. Carol reveals a dangerous secret to Rick that will accelerate his plans for the Wolves.

Plus-will Jessie finally find the strength to pull herself up out of depression and heartache to save what's left of her family?

( **EDIT:** btw, there's no peaches where they are now, so Daryl's just making due with what he knows he can find. He won the bet fair and square. He wants that cobbler!)

xoxo, kendra


	4. just go with it

_you know our love would be tragic_

 _so you don't pay it, don't pay it no mind_

 _we live with no lies_

 _hey, you're my favorite time of night_

 _so I'mma care for you, you, you_

 _yeah I'mma care for you, you, you, you_

 _cause girl, you're perfect_

 _you're always worth it_

 _and you deserve it_

 _the way you work it_

 _cause girl, you earned it, shit_

 _yeah girl, you earned it_

-The Weeknd, "U Earned It"

* * *

It had been a long, grueling ass day.

Rick felt every hour of it as he turned the corner and trudged down the last block to his house, fighting his fatigue every step of the way. He bypassed Jessie's house without giving it so much as a glance. He was too tired to do that dance with her tonight.

And he was too anxious to get home to Michonne.

Everything Carol and his wise-beyond-his-years son said to him today kept replaying in his mind. There was a lot to figure out. Carol's little atom bomb earlier wouldn't go undealt with. Plus, she was right about running out of time to do what he wanted to do. And there was still Jessie.

But none of that could even come close to how badly Rick needed to see Michonne. Breathe her in...kiss her again...feel her body against his. He was now free to do all of that, where before he never allowed himself to break boundaries. They were friends and partners, and she was his trusted confidant, but he never thought she'd let him be more. Now she was not only allowing it, but she had jump started it. He was going to take full advantage. He couldn't wait to get his hands on her. Get his _mouth_ on her.

He'd been thinking about tasting her again all day. For as long as she would let him. He had plans for her. It kept him walking, kept him awake. It was all he could think about as he dragged his boots along, up the stairs of the front porch and into the house.

He took a moment to close the door behind him loud enough to announce himself. He knew Daryl was off on his run with Aaron and Carol was likely settling into her new place by now. It would just be Michonne and the kids home now, and the thought of finally having the whole place to themselves gave him a feeling of the utmost satisfaction.

He truly felt like he was coming _home_ , to his family, after a long, hard day of work. Only this time, unlike the last few years or so of his marriage to Lori, he had been looking forward to it all day.

He listened to the house as he loosened his gun holsters, depositing them along with his weapons on the table in the foyer. He could hear Judith gurgling from somewhere close, probably in the kitchen, and the sounds of one of Carl's video games wafting down to him from upstairs. Both kids accounted for.

The exhausted former sheriff paused, now listening for any sign of Michonne. He heard her finally, laughing in surprise at Judith. "What are you doing, peanut?" She cooed at his daughter. He adored the nickname. It was the first time he'd heard her say it, but as always, he was instantly impressed with her affection for his children. "What's that in your little mouth, huh?"

Realizing that he was just standing there, smiling like an idiot in the hallway, Rick straightened up and made his way into the kitchen. "You should know better'n to turn your back on her these days..."

His breath stalled in his chest when he saw them. Michonne had picked Judith up from her high chair and was grinning at her, her face absolutely radiant. Jude had her small hands on Michonne's cheeks, smiling down at her. Rick felt like somebody had knocked the wind out of him. His heart swelled and he made up his mind right then and there: He was head over heels in love with this woman. God help him.

They both turned to smile at him, and he grinned right back. "Yeah, don't I know it. She's gettin' to be a wily one."

The bright-eyed baby girl giggled and waved at him. Rick wanted to hold her, but he didn't want this incredibly pleasing visual to end. Michonne tucked Judith against her hip and stood gazing right back at him, her smile making his heart quicken and his jeans feel tight. "Hey," was all he could manage.

"Hey..." Michonne replied, bouncing Judith lightly on her hip, her eyes large and round. He knew he was staring, not attempting to hide the affection and desire all over his face. She looked like she could see every dirty thought roaming through his head, and he let her. She got lost in his eyes for a moment, but then tore her gaze away and brought Judith to him. "Hungry?"

He took Judith gently and kissed the top of her blonde head, nodding. "Yeah."

He couldn't keep the huskiness out of his voice.

He was hungry, alright. For food, and then Michonne. All night.

Michonne could hardly catch her breath. She'd been looking forward to seeing Rick all day, but she kept the desire firmly in the back of her mind as she did her training and helped Maggie around the fences setting up watch posts. She came home, made dinner, fed Carl, Judith and Enid, and kept herself busy moving around the kitchen and the house at large. She straightened up, played with the little rascal, helped Carol pack the last of her things, and straightened up again. By the time she heard him come through the door, she had _almost_ convinced herself that she wasn't waiting up for him, instead choosing to give her attention exclusively to Judith.

But as soon as she saw him standing there, staring at her, his eyes glistening with unabashed affection, she couldn't pretend. He was soiled from working for ten hours straight and getting darker by the day from all the sun he was getting, making the gray hairs peppering his arms and stubble seem almost blond under the kitchen lights. His eyes were pale blue and mesmerizing. Rick leaned against the door with Judith, only periodically taking his gaze off of her to play with his daughter.

Michonne turned away from him to gather her focus again as she set about fixing him a plate with the modest meal she'd cobbled together out of rice, beans and buttered bread from the loaf Carol had made the other day.

Rick watched Michonne, letting Judith occupy herself with trying to unclasp his wristwatch, his eyes travelling from her toned shoulders to her supple ass. She was wearing his favorite outfit of hers: those clingy black running pants, her studded belt, and a loose, white tank top. He could see every curve of her body through her clothes, and he let his eyes drink their fill. Dinner might have to wait. He had a taste for something much sweeter than rice and beans on a slice of stiff bread.

She could feel his eyes on her, but she tried to ignore it as she finished his plate. Naturally, she turned to find him still standing there...still staring. His muscular arms and juicy lips beckoned to her. Damn...was it going to be like this every night now? She hoped so.

Judith was getting impatient fiddling with Rick's watch as he finally sauntered over to the kitchen island where Michonne was setting his plate and a glass of ice water. Rick put his baby girl back into her high chair and stood next to his woman. She thought he was going for the stool at the counter in front of his plate, but instead he reached for _her_ , pulling her into him.

Michonne let herself rest against his long, lean body, inhaling his scent up close, having been missing it all day. He smelled like the sun, and sweat, and wilderness. His chest was sturdy, his embrace possessive. He held her firmly to him with one arm, his hand resting lightly on her ass. He sighed down at her, his face close. She finally looked up from his chest to his eyes. " _Hey…_ " he breathed the same greeting huskily this time, angling for a kiss.

"Hey, Rick." She couldn't hide how glad she was to see him; to have him holding her like it was the most natural and worn-in thing in the world. Like they'd been this way for a lifetime already. He was right. They were still them, but better.

Rick wanted her mouth. Michonne obliged, leaning even closer to him as he kissed her tenderly, slowly. She opened her mouth and tilted her head up further, allowing him to dip his tongue inside. They kissed deeply, rocking back and forth against each other. His grip on her ass tightened as he stroked her neck with his free hand and hungrily sucked on her juicy, plush lips or lapped at her tongue. Over and over again, mimicking the way he soon intended to lap at her sweet, wet-

" _Ahem_." Carl's shockingly deep voice coughed roughly from the door, and they broke apart to find him and Enid hovering. The girl looked slightly mortified for them, but Carl was just smirking at them; Michonne in particular. She rolled her eyes and attempted to step back, put some distance between her and the boy's father. She was glad for their talk earlier today, but it was too soon not to feel awkward about him catching them fooling around like this.

Rick held her firm, however, not giving her the chance to escape. He adjusted his stance to that of weary nonchalance as he greeted his son and Enid, one arm still encircling Michonne's waist. "And where are you two off to?"

"Hey Mr. Grimes…" Enid offered awkwardly, her eyes darting from his to Michonne's and back to her shoes again.

Rick nodded at the somber teenaged girl. "Enid. You kidnappin' my son again?"

They all chuckled at Rick's terrible joke. He was the king of corny one-liners. Something that Michonne just then realized she adored about him. So many people focused on how volatile and intense he could be, but his family got to see the side of him that was just a corny dad. She also realized that _she_ was part of his family. She relaxed in his embrace, letting some of her embarrassment slip away, touched by the simple certainty of it.

"Was just gonna walk Enid home. Hang out with Glenn a little bit. Haven't really talked to him properly since he got back." Carl said honestly, though Michonne could tell he wanted to say something else. The look in his eyes said ' _and I don't wanna be within a ten mile radius of you two for at least a couple hours…'_

It made her embarrassed all over again, at the same time as it filled her to the brim with anticipation. She and Rick would be alone in the house except for Judith, who was fed and ready for bedtime. And the way Rick had kissed her just now, she knew she was in for something _special_.

"Alright. Don't stay all night, though."

"You sure?" Carl let slip, one of his eyebrows disappearing under the brim of his hat.

"I know how you are when you get goin' Carl." Rick fixed his boy with a look, ignoring his suggestive comment. "Glenn's been workin' all day just like the rest of us. He needs his sleep, too and I'm sure he wants to spend time with Maggie. _Don't stay all night_."

"Yes sir." Carl nodded, his sarcastic grin sobering as he assessed and accepted his father's rule. "Later, Michonne," he nodded at Michonne and gestured for Enid to follow him out. Enid waved goodnight and they both disappeared. A few seconds later, Rick and Michonne heard the door.

They were pretty much alone now.

Michonne, attempting to at least pretend she still cared about serving him dinner, turned and nudged Rick's shoulder to get him to loosen his hold on her waist. "You ready to eat?"

Rick grinned wolfishly, still not letting her go. He leaned into her neck and sucked at her skin. "Yeah…" he uttered roughly, kissing a steamy trail from there to her earlobe. "Get upstairs and take off your pants."

She gasped, feeling him straining through his jeans, hot and hard against her thigh. He kissed her neck still more, his breath and stubble making her skin tingle. "You're crazy!" she giggled.

"Baby, you have no idea…" That did it. His deep, raspy, southern drawl got her every damn time. Her clit throbbed, sending a wave of desire pulsing through her body. He slapped her ass and she grinned girlishly, allowing him his brutish little display of dominance this time. He finally released her and she stepped back slowly, staring him down as she backed up to the door. Rick's dick jumped and his tongue slid across his bottom lip with barely-contained excitement, watching her.

Finally, after making him wait for her, she turned and headed upstairs to do as he asked.

"Okay, Jude. Bedtime, baby girl." Rick gave his full attention to his daughter for the five or six minutes it took to bed her and set up the monitor. He made sure her night light was on and draped her favorite 'blanket' (one of Carl's old shirts) over her squirming little body. Then he kissed her goodnight and tiptoed out of her room, closing the door behind him.

He stood in the hallway between Judith's room and Michonne's, trying to calm himself before he walked in. He wanted to devour her, but if he went in too quickly he would wind up rushing things. He didn't want to rush. He wanted to take his time tonight. The only thing all that fucking they did last night caused was a much greater desire in Rick to explore every inch of her glorious pussy with his tongue.

Slowly...reverently. He wasn't satisfied by a long shot.

Swallowing down his titanic lust, Rick walked across the hall and knocked on her door.

"Come in, silly," she said from inside the room, her smooth voice muffled but still powerfully sexy.

He went inside without hesitation, and she was standing by the side of the bed, her little black panties peeking out at him from the hem of her tank top. She had removed her bra as well, and her springy nipples were poking at the soft fabric, calling to his mouth.

She wasn't going to think he was so silly when he was through with her.

"Stand against the wall." He found himself saying, feeling almost hypnotised by the sight of her silky dark brown thighs and the perfectly v-shaped dip of her pussy lips through her panties. She was wet..he could see it even in the dim lamp light. So wet her precum was starting to coat her inner thighs. He was going to enjoy this immensely. So would she, he determined to himself as she hesitantly obeyed him, backing up to press herself against the wall between the nightstand and the window. She was so goddamned beautiful. Her locs were falling over her eyes again. He decided he liked it when they did that the most. He wanted them all over her face tonight, forgotten about as she moaned with pleasure.

Rick was on the point of stalking toward her, the hunger in _his_ eyes rendering her weak with lust...when the doorbell rang.

They both turned their heads to listen, completely caught off guard (and not happy about it). It sounded again, a soft, echoing chime that utterly broke his momentum.

His dick was straining against the constrictive fabric of his jeans and his mouth was watering with the phantom taste of Michonne, but the goddamned doorbell kept ringing. Whoever it was knew they were home and they were not going to just go away. He couldn't think of who it could be-his mind was too foggy with pent up lust and he was too annoyed to run through a list of potential candidates.

Michonne sighed and made to reach for her pants, but he turned back to her sharply. "No, you stay put. I'll go." He adjusted his belt to give his aching cock some breathing room and wiped his mouth, his expression hard with determination. Michonne didn't argue with him. He was sexy as hell when he was horny and unable to act on it. She felt like she was being tortured with anticipation, but maybe he was feeling it just a little bit more. "I'll make it quick."

She believed him as she watched him saunter from the room, calling back gruffly: " _Don't move_ , Michonne."

She heard him jog down the stairs with heavy footsteps. Yeah. He was going to get rid of whoever it was pretty fast, even if he had to be rude, and then he was going to come stalking back upstairs to fuck the shit out of her. She had a hunch he would be that much more turned on if he found her exactly where he'd left her. That much more determined to reward her for it.

Michonne's pussy dripped and ached just thinking about it. She didn't move from the wall. She fought against touching herself, wanting to preserve herself for Rick. She would be hard pressed not to cum as soon as he got going, but she also knew she would do it more than once, if the smouldering look in his eyes and the dominance in his voice delivered on their promise.

* * *

 _Earlier that morning..._

"Beets? Seriously?" Maggie made a perplexed face.

"Yeah, it makes 'em sweet. I just wanted to do...something...nice..." Carol suddenly paused in the middle of recounting her new recipe idea for cookies to squint suspiciously at Michonne. She gestured toward their silent friend with her chin.

Maggie turned to look at the woman in question.

Michonne had lapsed into thought, basically ignoring them both for the last few minutes as they sat enjoying the sunshine on the porch, pretending to be watching Judith play with her cups.

She was really thinking about Rick. About his strong, yet elegant hands, gripping and tugging on her naked flesh. His thick, warm lips kissing and sucking on her everywhere. His gruff voice, issuing low commands. The way he took exactly what he wanted, while at the same time giving her exactly what she was aching for. She always respected him for respecting her. Because she knew she had earned his respect, and in turn, he listened to her, considered her wishes, and made her feel like he trusted her more than anybody. But in bed...Rick was a beast. He was so intense. His scent, his hair, his lips; his strength; the heat of his skin; he was all over her at once, and the memory was hard to shake off.

It was enough to get her squirming as she sat in the uncomfortable wooden porch chair, gazing unseeingly at the baby girl clumsily stacking her red plastic cups on top of her blanket.

Carol could see it all over Michonne's pretty face. Her eyes were narrowed to a far off place, and she had a small, but definitely discernible smirk playing at her lips. Maggie, after a moment of realization, saw it too. She turned back to Carol with a sardonic grin. Michonne wasn't even _pretending_ to pay attention.

Carol got an idea. Time to change the subject.

"So-Michonne says Rick's gonna go after the Wolves." She spoke up a little louder than before, and wasn't surprised when Michonne snapped to, her cool gaze sharpening as she zeroed in on Carol's icy blues.

Maggie's jaw dropped, caught off guard, but Michonne and Carol only stared at each other.

"When did he decide that?" Maggie demanded coolly, frowning. Her accent dragged her words out somewhat, long enough for Michonne to decide to just tell the truth. She was annoyed with Carol for bringing it up without discussing it with her, but then it was going to come out anyway.

She had wanted it to be with everyone, and Rick telling it in his own words. But Carol seemed hell bent on at least strategizing a response to whatever he had in mind, despite what Michonne had to say about it. Okay. She could play this game. With _them_. Not Rick. She was going to tell him the truth as soon as she saw him. She had been explicit with Carol about that. The enigmatic woman would just have to get over it and face the music. Fair was fair.

Carol shrugged and gestured to Michonne. Michonne sighed and looked over at Maggie. "He only told me last night," her eyes flickered toward Carol sharply, but landed back on her other friend's concerned face. "But I think he's been thinking about it for weeks. He's just been biding his time, working on securing this place, maybe working out a plan." She felt a little embarrassed but pushed on, shrugging as if it didn't matter. "We didn't exactly get a chance to talk it through..."

"But he can't wait too much longer," Carol ignored the reference to their all-nighter, shaking her head, turning this into a real conversation now. "You know they could come back any time."

"What is he supposed to do, leave us defenseless?"

"I'm not saying that." Carol relented, leaving Maggie to watch them argue in studied silence. She raised her pale blue eyes to meet Michonne's, her expression serious."But y _ou know_ Rick, Michonne."

Michonne sat up straight in her uncomfortable chair, crossing her arms. "Yeah." She prompted in a low, cool voice, barely audible over Judith's gurgling.

"Are you gonna be able to see him clearly? When he's out there, can you pull him back? Or...can you handle what he could become?"

Michonne's eyes darted from Carol's to Judith and back to Maggie. Her young friend's expression was pinched, but it was clear she agreed with Carol. Michonne was indignant at Carol's audacity, but she had to admit, the question was legit. Not that they were in any way right, but still...they _all_ knew Rick. He would do _anything_ to protect his own. Anything. And he didn't take chances anymore. In fact, if it hadn't been for Michonne, they may not have made it to Alexandria. Rick might have flinched in the face of uncertainty, and taken his vengeance for what seemed like a hundred other destroyed hopes out on Aaron. They all saw how unhinged he'd been when they first got here, and again, Michonne had made an objective decision that gave them all another chance at life. Or at least, it seemed objective to _them_. Essentially, they were asking her if she could still be that 'objective' now that she and Rick had taken their relationship...further.

"I'm still strugglin' with it." Maggie admitted quietly, gazing at Michonne earnestly. "That thought. 'If it came down to it...could I sacrifice Glenn for the greater good of what we have here?'"

"We're trying to _build_ something, all of us." Carol added, as if she didn't already know that. As if she wasn't already fighting for that. "With more people coming in, Rick's gonna feel more pressure to protect us. We saw what that pressure did back at the prison..."

There. The bomb had been dropped.

There was thick silence (except for Jude's soft, oblivious noises), on the porch.

Michonne closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. She had expected things like this to crop up, but she honestly hadn't expected it so soon. They'd only fucked _last night_. Carol and Maggie were acting like he had proposed to her. Ignoring the flutter in her chest at that thought, the dark-skinned survivor opened her eyes again and looked both her friends squarely in their faces. They were acting like Rick was about to fly off the deep end any moment. Maybe they had a right to be concerned, but that shit was very unfair.

"Rick is _nothing_ like the Governor, or those assholes at Terminus, or the Wolves."

"It's only a matter of decisions." Carol whispered, looking haunted. "To protect the people you love...you gotta make decisions."

Michonne felt genuine empathy for her, but she was wrong. "We're still us. All of us." She reassured them. "And we _are_ going to keep this place safe. Rick will tell us his plan when he's ready. And we'll all figure it out, _together_. That's how we avoid what happened back at the prison."

Maggie nodded, reaching over to take Michonne's hand. "I know."

Michonne was grateful that Maggie's tone suggested they would end the conversation there. For now.

* * *

Inside the house, standing in the foyer, Carl and Enid were eavesdropping.

Carl stood with his head down, his crystal blue gaze fixed on his shoes, the wide, worn out brim of his hat tipped low over his eyes. His dark brown hair hung in his face, and his jaw was set into a thoughtful frown. Enid stood very close to him, one hand folded up in his and the other resting on his arm. She wanted to rest her chin up against his shoulder, lean on him some more, but she knew he was focused on the conversation out there so she tried to pay attention in case he wanted to talk about it later.

He liked to talk about stuff. Enid did more talking with Carl than with anybody, ever. They had just spent all night talking. About everything. Their pasts before the turn. Ron. His mother Lori. The Governor. Her time out in the open alone. Her parents. He just had this ability to pull it out of her; bring her closer to the edge of who she used to be than she'd been in a long time.

He was an intense, serious kid. But he wasn't sad, like Ron. He was strong. Like his dad. She used to hate it, but now she realized that was because she secretly looked up to him. She wanted to be like him. And she wanted _him_ to be the one to show her how. Carl had this strange ability to make her feel safe, but capable. Make her feel like she wasn't crazy, just lost. Like maybe she could be found. Be herself again.

She realized she had gone off thinking about him and missed the end of the conversation. Carl straightened up and sighed hard, turning to face her. Whenever he gazed at her with that serious look on his face, his gorgeous eyes sliding up to hers from underneath all that dark, wavy hair, Enid felt herself falling for him all over again. It was definitely something to get used to. She was used to being on her own, fending for herself, being sad, and isolated, and willing to do anything to just survive somehow. She didn't trust people easily. But Carl wiped all that out with a single look. He was the only one who could do that. She shifted on her feet under his gaze, squeezing his hand.

"What?" she asked quietly, returning his thoughtful frown.

He looked pensive. Worried. She thought maybe it had to do with what Carol and Maggie were saying about his dad. She didn't want to tell him, but she kind of agreed with them. Rick was a scary man.

But Carl surprised her. "I hate the way they're grilling Michonne," he uttered, his voice its deepest since she'd met him. "She isn't like Carol, she doesn't scheme. She's honest. She wouldn't spy on my dad."

Carl was really annoyed with them. Enid thought that was interesting. He loved Maggie. So did Enid. She was a sweet lady, and she always acted like a big sister to both of them. Him being this annoyed with her and Carol over a few questions felt out of place. But then, he was also super protective of Michonne. Enid knew Michonne meant a lot to Carl. He always talked about her with the utmost respect, thoughtfulness, and impressive depth.

The look on his face drew her closer to him. She let go of his hand to reach up and move a lock of his hair out of the way. He closed his eyes when she touched him, and she smiled to herself, feeling warmth in her heart for how sweet he was. She leaned her front against his, and delighted in feeling his lean, yet strong arms encircle her waist and squeeze gently. She rested her hand on his warm cheek and whispered to him:

"She can take care of herself. You're right, she's honest." He nodded, his eyes still closed, listening to her soft voice. "Stop worrying so much, emo."

Carl snorted and smiled, opening his eyes. " _Me?_ Emo? Look who's talkin', Wednesday Addams."

She rolled her eyes at him, not at all upset at the comparison. "Wednesday is _goth_ , not emo. Dumbass."

He suddenly leaned in and kissed her, wiping her superior grin from her lips. She sighed against his mouth, kissing him back immediately, her hands in his hair and around his neck. He pressed her into him closer and she felt her heart beating faster and faster as she lost herself in the feel of his soft, warm lips pulling on hers like magnets. Then he slowly stopped, leaving her leaning in for more but only finding when she opened her eyes that he was smirking at her. Asshole.

"Now who were you callin' a dumbass?"

She shook her head and glared at him, but inside she was melting. "I hate you."

"Uh huh…" he was still gloating. Of course she found it charming as fuck and she hated him for that too.

Suddenly his smile disappeared and he straightened up, turning his head to hear what they were saying. Enid listened, too. They were talking about Carl. And her.

"We'd better get out there and break that up," he muttered, annoyed again.

Enid stole another kiss on his cheek as he straightened his hat and reached for the doorknob.

His cheeks got red but he didn't say anything, instead he grabbed her hand to lead her outside. As they went, she couldn't help wondering if she was his girlfriend, now. She found herself hoping so.

* * *

On the porch, Maggie had told Michonne about Carl and Enid spending all night talking in her room. "They're teenagers, you know?" Maggie shrugged.

Michonne sighed. "Yeah. I guess. I don't think Rick has even thought about how fast Carl's growing up…"

"Carl's just like Rick. He helps people." Carol offered, her expression obscured by the cup of coffee she was sipping. "He saves people. That girl needs saving. If sappy, teenage love will do it...so be it."

"Glenn saves people, too." Maggie offered in her unmistakably soft, smoky southern accent. She gazed at Judith, who was now gumming one of her cups, gurgling with amusement. "He saved _me_. Gave me somebody to love. Somebody who loves me. Somebody for us to love together. Hope for this terrible world." She looked down at her own stomach. She wasn't showing just yet, but she would be soon. She smiled softly, hopefully, before returning her attention to her friends. "That's why I fell in love with 'im. That's why Enid is so taken with Carl. He _is_ still young, but I think he's on to somethin'."

Both Carol and Michonne softened at her words, and they looked on at the new mother feeling their own separate memories, but shared heartache. Heartache they'd never even mentioned to each other.

As if conjured by the utterance of his name, Carl appeared, holding hands with Enid.

Michonne was still reeling over Carol's declaration that the two of them were in love, and the sight of them in such intimate proximity didn't help. She had sort of noticed that they spent a lot of time together, but she thought they were just friends. She hadn't let it even enter her mind that Carl, a growing young man, was actually pursuing her. The Grimes boys were full of surprises in the romance department these days.

The fifteen-year-old's bright blue eyes immediately latched onto Michonne's. His expression, eye contact, and firm grasp on Enid's hand told her all she needed to know about his intentions. She wouldn't judge him. He was a good kid, and Enid seemed like a sweet, though troubled girl.

"Hey Michonne," Carl greeted her. She could still not get over how deep his voice had gotten, almost overnight it seemed. And frankly, he looked like more of a young man than ever. He'd lost most of his baby fat, and he was much taller now. There had always been something in Carl's eyes; some kind of maturity and stillness that she'd never seen in any kids his age that she'd met before him. And now-call it genetics or chalk it up to all that he'd been through-that maturity and stillness was as thick as fire smoke and hard as stone behind those ancient blue eyes of his. Carol was right. He was just like his father. And maybe like his mother, too. That part of it would probably always remain a bit of a mystery to Michonne.

"Hey, kid," she replied, offering him a soft, unbothered smile. Then she deliberately turned to look at Enid directly for the first time since they met. She was a pretty girl. They made a nice young couple. "Morning, Enid."

Enid blinked, as if surprised to be greeted directly, and smiled uncertainly. "Morning, Michonne. Hey, Maggie. Miss Carol."

Carol rolled her eyes as Carl let go of Enid's hand to stoop towards Judith. "Enough with the 'Miss Carol' stuff, will ya? It's just Carol. I'm not _that_ old."

Enid thought sarcastically ' _you should probably dye all that gray out of your hair, then…'_ but outwardly she only nodded contritely. "Shit. I forgot. Sorry. Morning, _Carol_."

Carol gave her a steely smile. "That's better." She sipped her coffee.

"Hey, Little Ass Kicker…" Carl picked Judith up and bounced her a little, causing her to giggle and wave her little arms at him. He grinned and kissed her on the cheek, blowing a raspberry that sent her into a slobbery giggle fit. He blew a few more as she held onto his face with delight, before letting her go and wiping her cheek with the arm of his shirt.

All the women on the porch looked on fondly. He was good with his baby sister. Michonne found herself wondering if he would be that attentive and loving to her precious little Andre.

But she banished the thought, not wishing to unfairly project her own longing and pain onto her buddy. _Judith_ was Carl's little sister, and she loved them both like they were her own. She was content with that. She had to be. They couldn't afford to have everyone in Alexandria get knocked up at once…

Michonne blinked, shocked at the direction her thoughts had veered off to. Why was she thinking of getting pregnant? Of _wanting_ to be pregnant?

She was officially done with the girl talk.

She stood up and stretched, placing her empty coffee cup on the table between her and Maggie's chairs. "Gotta dash. Gonna be late for my own training session."

"I'll walk you," Carl offered. "Wanted to see if my dad needed any help today."

She suspected that he knew he was in for the third degree about Enid and wanted to get it over with. She didn't know he was actually thinking he wanted to grill _her_ about his dad, and what had happened between them to cause Carol and Maggie to talk to her that way. It hadn't escaped his notice that they'd disappeared together last night, and had pretty much been attached at the hip afterward.

He'd half expected them to show up to the house together this morning.

Michonne nodded, smiling at him and then Judith, closing the small distance between them on the porch to kiss the top of the baby's blonde head. She stepped back and acknowledged the teenage girl hovering close to them again. "I wanna see you at training one of these days, Enid."

Enid bounced on her toes, her dark green eyes sliding towards Carl. "Well, Carl offered to train me himself…"

Carl smiled to himself, his eyes hidden behind his hair, but after a moment he nodded. "Yeah. Guns and self-defense stuff. Nothin' crazy."

"Sure, as long as your dad says it's okay." Michonne conceded, not missing the knowing looks Maggie and Carol were shooting at her.

They said their 'see you later's, Carl kissed Judith too and handed her to Maggie. Then, to Michonne's surprise, he turned and kissed Enid on the cheek, then the lips. The girl's face flushed a deep, creamy rose tint and she avoided everyone's looks as a smile forced its way to the corners of her mouth. "Come over later, 'kay?"

"Okay...sure." She nodded, still looking at her threadbare Chuck Taylors shyly. Michonne wanted to throw up, they were so sweet with each other. But she had to admit, she was impressed with how Carl wasn't afraid or ashamed to let them all know that this was happening, whether they liked it or not. And seeing Enid's reaction further let Michonne know that she was just as smitten as Carol had hypothesized. Maybe Maggie was right-the boy was on to something.

Carl and Michonne walked down the front steps of the porch side-by-side, squinting against the morning sun.

They went on walking in silence for a while, rounding the bend in the road that would lead them toward the infirmary, and the gates beyond that. Michonne glanced over at his stoic figure. His face was partially hidden under his ubiquitous, wide-brimmed sheriff's hat and all that hair. "So you wanna tell me about you and Enid?" she asked softly, still watching him.

He walked with his head down, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his gun holster slung low across his slim waist, his bowie knife strapped to his thigh. He was indeed a young man, wise beyond his years, and she loved him. She would make this as quick and painless as possible. She just wanted to prepare him for his dad, because she knew that conversation was coming.

"Well…" he answered thoughtfully, then hit her with a shocker: "You wanna tell _me_ about you and my dad?"

Michonne had to slow down and stop walking. They stood in the middle of the street, the sounds of the wind and neighborhood activity surrounding them as the warming sun glared down on them through the trees. Carl stopped a few paces ahead, turning to face her.

He was smirking, knowing he had her at a disadvantage. He was perfectly fine confiding in her about Enid. He had intended to, anyway. But he also wanted to know about her relationship with his father, because if it was like he hoped, he was going to tell her plain and simple that she should go for it. With all her heart. He had wanted this for his dad for a long time, maybe since that day she'd gone into that bar to retrieve the only picture that remained of his mother. Since that day, Carl had grown to feel like he could tell Michonne anything; he worried about her, and he cared for her. She was so good with Judith, and he was the only person she'd told about Andre. Keeping that secret close to him made him feel like he was connected to Michonne in a way that no one else was. He wanted that for his dad. They both deserved it.

He wanted to be a family. And he wanted Michonne to _know that_. So he would confide in her about Enid, because as far as he was concerned, she was as close to a mother as he'd ever get to have.

"Me and your dad." She repeated quietly, frowning at him. She had been hoping to avoid confronting this so quickly, but she should have known, given how smart and observant this kid was. He nodded, still smirking at her, the little punk. Michonne fought off a grin, crossing her arms and lifting her chin at him. "What do you know about it?"

Carl sighed and shifted on his feet. So she was gonna make him talk first. Fine. "I know my dad's been looking at you differently." He scoffed, looking off at the trees. "Well, he's _always_ stared at you. He just does it a lot more lately." He turned back to look her in the eyes. "I know that you mean a lot to him. And I know what he means to you." He swallowed at his own boldness, telling her about her feelings, but she didn't interrupt him. She stared at him, speechless, awed by how mature he was. "I know last night you two seemed pretty cozy. So…" he tilted his head from side to side, smiling now. "I put two and two together and figured you'd finally realized that you love each other."

The boy shrugged, not saying anything further.

Michonne took a minute to recover from his very frank, very astute observation. At least he was accurate where she was concerned. She _did_ love him. But she couldn't really say if Rick felt the same way she felt about him. They hadn't even had time to sleep properly, let alone broach the subject of feelings. All they'd done was fuck all night, and though it had been absolutely _mind blowing_ (perhaps the best and most intense sex she'd ever had), it didn't mean that they were ready to declare it mutual love.

She wasn't about to get into all of that with Rick's fifteen-year-old son, though. "We...came to a realization, yeah." She hedged.

"So you're together, now?" Carl asked, raising his eyebrows hopefully.

Michonne didn't know how to answer, so she just gave as truthful an answer as she could. "We're figuring it out."

Carl was quiet for a few seconds, mulling her answer. She was hesitating; she seemed too cautious. He didn't know what could be making her hold back, except for maybe one thing. Carl sometimes overheard his dad talking to his uncle Shane about his mom, back before everything died. His dad wasn't the kind of guy to be open about his feelings. He preferred action. Carl knew his dad always felt like he could never seem to satisfy his mom. He'd not only overheard his dad saying it, he had felt it, being around them near the end, listening to their most heated arguments. And one of the reasons was because he didn't talk. Carl grew to understand that about his father...his mom never did.

Carl didn't want Michonne to make the same mistake about his dad's feelings for her. He knew his dad. He had seen Rick drawing Michonne closer and closer to him over the months. He and Judith had been drawing her closer, too. He was absolutely sure that this was the right thing for them all.

"You should tell him." He said fiercely, his eyes narrowed with determination.

Michonne gaped at him. "Tell him what?"

"How you feel about him, Michonne. He won't say it first, he isn't good with that kinda stuff. But _you_ should." She was still glaring at him in denial, and he rolled his eyes at her. "Come on, we're _best_ _friends_. I may be just a kid, but I can tell what it means when a person looks at someone the way you look at my dad."

"Well _aren't you observant_ ," Michonne joked, knowing she was caught. She couldn't believe the kid's nerve. Michonne sighed, coming to stand closer to him. She reached out and touched his shoulder, leveling with him. "I just don't want you to think that I'm trying to...replace your mom, or gain something here." Michonne shrugged, feeling completely exposed, and truthfully a little nervous about the opinion of a teenager. But Carl's opinion did matter to her. A whole lot. "I'm just going with the flow."

"But you love him," Carl insisted in a low, steady voice, his eyes angling up to hers, glinting in the sunlight. "Right?"

Michonne wouldn't lie to him. She nodded slowly, letting him see the truth in her eyes. "I do. And I love you and Jude, you gotta know that. Me and your dad will _both_ put your needs before our own. That's just the way it is."

"I love you too, Michonne." Carl said, squinting at her earnestly. The certainty in his eyes took her breath away. She'd always worried that she was overstepping with him, wanting to be his friend but also not being able to help her protectiveness and concern for his wellbeing. To hear him confirm that he cared for her the same way filled her with relief. "Just promise me you'll think about telling my dad."

He reached up and hugged her, and she returned his embrace.

"I'll put in a good word for ya," he joked, releasing her. She laughed and rolled her eyes. "But I have a feeling I won't have to say too much. He's crazy about you, you know that, right?"

Michonne felt her cheeks and temples flush, finding herself hoping very much that the boy was right. She was crazy about Rick Grimes, and his kids. Hearing one of them confirm that he could possibly feel even a fraction of the same way made her heart swell. She flicked his hat with her fingers, causing him to grin and clamp down on it with one hand.

"I'll make you a deal," she offered, starting up her steady stroll towards the infirmary. "You talk to your dad about Enid, and I'll be honest with him about...how I feel. What do you say, kid?"

Carl considered her, and figured he didn't really have anything to lose. He was gonna have to talk to his dad about his feelings for Enid sooner or later, and sooner was definitely better. He already knew he wasn't gonna back down, despite how protective he his dad could be. He decided he was going to use the opportunity just like he had with Michonne just now; tell his dad to stop beating around the bush and officially offer Michonne her place in the family. She belonged there, they all knew it. It was time to make it official. He was excited to have a complete family again, hopefully for the rest of his life.

Judith would grow up with a mother, and his dad would be happy again. And for his part, the prospect of having his best friend be his parent was starting to grow on Carl. Michonne was so easy to talk to, she would be there for him in ways that maybe Lori couldn't. He loved his mother, he missed her terribly, but Michonne made all that feel a hundred times better than it used to.

"Okay. Sure." He reached out his hand and they shook on it. Then he paused, as the infirmary came into sight, a block or so down the road. "But...can I talk to you about something first?"

Michonne slowed down but kept walking this time, peering over at him curiously. "Of course."

Carl sighed, taking his hat off momentarily to rake his fingers through his thick hair. It was gonna be a warm day. He was already starting to sweat. It didn't help that he was probably gonna get wrangled into helping out with his dad today, wearing the same clothes that he'd been wearing last night, minus the tie. He stopped stalling, turning to glance at Michonne's expectant and unwavering gaze as they walked slowly down the hill in the middle of the street.

"I love Enid," he said quietly, staring straight ahead, now. But his expression was steely, serious. "I want to protect her, and I want to try to make her happy. But I don't want anybody belittling that." He frowned, shaking himself out of his passionate thoughts, glancing over at her again to see what she was thinking. "Does that make sense?"

"Yeah it does." Michonne said. "I feel the same way about your dad."

"You don't think we're too young?" He was staring at her, now, waiting for her answer as they walked. Her opinion mattered to him, too, she realized. "That's what everyone's gonna say. My dad included."

"I think this is a different time, a different life. I think...you've earned this." She held his gaze, wanting him to know she meant it. "You are very young, Carl, but you're also one of the most mature and responsible kids I've ever known. Your dad will see that, too." She smiled and gave him a light punch on the arm. "And who cares what everyone else thinks?"

Carl's lopsided grin returned, and he nodded in agreement. "Damn right," he declared.

"Speaking of being responsible, though…" Michonne sighed as they made it to within a few paces of the infirmary, which was also Denise and Tara's home. Carl squinted over at her inquisitively. "I'll make you another deal."

"What?" He didn't know if he would like where she was going with this.

"Protection. If you're serious about Enid, then you'll protect her and yourself both from something happening that you _know_ you're not ready for. Got it?"

Carl's eyes widened, but then he thought about it, and had to begrudgingly admit that she was right. He was pretty sure that he was in love, but he was _damned_ sure he wasn't ready to get anybody pregnant. Judith was enough. He nodded, his cheeks red with embarrassment. "I got it. Let's stop talking about it, now."

They walked into the infirmary, which Denise kept blessedly cool, to find her sitting cross-legged on the kitchen counter, pouring over a giant medical book.

She jumped a little, startled when Carl cleared his throat, but gave them both a cheerful smile. "Hey, guys. What's up? Everything okay with Judith?"

She hopped down from the counter surprisingly gracefully and showed them what she was reading. It was a pediatric medical encyclopedia.

"I'm boning up on babies today," she adjusted her glasses, looking pleased with herself. "So I'm good, you know, if something's wrong. Just in case. _Is_ something wrong?"

"Judith is fine…" Carl muttered, staring at her blankly.

"Uh, we actually came here to ask if you had...protection." Michonne said in a rush, so low Denise had to lean forward to catch her words. The young doctor frowned with confusion. "Sexual protection." Michonne clarified, mortified.

Carl snickered in the back of his throat, causing Michonne to punch him on the arm.

Denise looked from one to the other with red cheeks for a moment, but then nodded and closed her book. "Oh. Okay. Uh-yeah, I think I do, as a matter of fact. Heath brought a few boxes in a couple weeks back, k-kinda out of the blue. I mean I didn't think t-to ask, though I _should_ have, but then I don't really get...at least I didn't, before, but then I met Tara, and..." she gushed, her cheeks still burning as she finally stopped herself and adjusted her glasses again. "Um, so who are they for...?"

Michonne smirked at Carl. Carl turned beet red. Denise waved to indicate that he didn't have to confirm it verbally. "Got it. I'll just...be right back."

Before she could leave the room, Michonne's voice stopped her. "For me, too."

Denise paused, but didn't look back as she left to fetch the stuff.

The two friends and family members looked at everything around them except each other while Denise was gone. Michonne breathed a silent sigh of relief when the doc came back, breaking the spell of awkwardness, carrying a stack of condoms in one hand and a stack of birth control pills in the other. "Okay, Trojans for the kid, and pills for his mom." She said, smiling. "That should last you about six months," she added, referring to the pills. "Let me know when you're getting low, though, they're the only ones we have."

Michonned looked up at her sharply, but Carl just took the condoms. "Thanks…" he muttered.

"No problem. Your mom's smart, setting an example and everything. My mom didn't really get to do the same for me…" she laughed, pointing to herself and mouthing ' _lesbian'_ , giving a little snort.

Carl chuckled, but Michonne was still stuck on hearing Denise refer to her as Carl's mom twice. She knew it was probably just because the girl had little backstory on her and the Grimes', and she was making a simple enough assumption.

Carl turned to look at Michonne knowingly, a warm smile gracing his young face. "Yeah, Michonne's a good mom. We're lucky she found us."

Michonne's eyes traveled to his, and she could see that he meant it. She took the pills from Denise and raised them in salute, turning to leave before things got any more awkward and semi-emotional. Carl followed her out, stuffing his hoard in his pockets.

They came to the point where the road divided. She would head left to the fields out by the church to begin training the weakest residents in hand-to-hand combat. Carl would head right, down towards the gates, to find his dad and get to work on the last of the reinforcements they'd been adding around the walls.

"Hey, Michonne?" She stuffed her pills into her small leather satchel, finally meeting his gaze again. "I don't think you're trying to replace my mom. But...you are sort of _like_ a mom, to me and Judith, I mean. So I don't mind if people call you that. Okay?"

"Even though I'm a nag?" She joked, but she was secretly quite touched.

"Especially when you're being a pain in the ass, yeah."

Michonne snatched his hat off his head and gave him a knuckle sandwich, fighting easily against his half-hearted squirming. He managed to pry himself from her grip around his neck with her arm, grabbing for his hat again. She gave it up, smiling happily, and watched as he put it back on, smoothing his hair down again. They parted ways.

* * *

Rick dove gracelessly behind the truck, plugging his fingers in his ears, shaking his sweat-soaked curls out of his eyes.

"Okay, Heath, _BLOW IT!_ " He yelled, crouching low and bracing himself for the noise and danger as Heath shot the rocket launcher at the ditch across the road. The explosion shook the truck but didn't blow it over. Fire licked at Rick's boots and the truck's tires, but was sucked away again in the air vacuum that followed the explosion. Trees cracked and fell over slowly, earth caved in underneath the ditch, and a hailstorm of dirt rained down on them before all went deadly quiet again.

Rick coughed and shook the dirt out of his hair, standing up slowly as the chaos settled. He peered over the hood of the truck to see that it had worked. There was a hole in the ground, surrounded by buckled or completely fallen trees. This was their last sniper ditch, and he was glad he wouldn't have to use any more ammo to get the job done. He whistled, signaling that it was okay for everyone to get out from under cover. They quickly took down a handful of lingering walkers that had wandered over because of the noise.

As Rick was pulling his knife from the skull of one grizzly-looking piece of shit missing half his face, he noticed his boy making his way steadily towards them, that hat and that slim figure unmistakable against the glare of the sun. Good. He wouldn't have to send for him, then. He'd been afraid his son might waste the day away with that girl Enid again.

Heath, Glenn and Tobin went to work clearing up the debris so they could reinforce the hole and cover it like they'd done all the others. Carl was carrying bottles of water he'd gotten from up by the gates.

Rick wiped his knife on his jeans and holstered it, taking a bottle gratefully as Carl finally reached the truck. "Thanks, son."

Carl nodded and tossed three more to the men in the ditch.

Rick took a few long swigs of water before capping the bottle and gesturing to the hole they'd made. He wanted to get Carl working before he had a chance to make an excuse and escape. "You can help line up the ditch, then we'll use those trees to make more walker traps down the road a piece."

Carl simply nodded, rolling up his sleeves. Rick shared his water with his son, and together they got down into the dirt to help clear away the tree lumber.

They worked for three or four hours straight, making the area look normal again, reinforcing and then sealing off the sniper ditch with a hidden latch door covered in grass, tree branches, and earth. Once done, all five men worked together loading lumber into the truck, driving it down closer to the gates. They carved big branches into spikes, drilling them into the trunks, setting the whole thing up to catch stray walkers. Heath and Glenn drove some cars they'd found down toward the traps to park them along the road. Some of them were hollowed out to serve as cover for gunmen, some filled with gas in case a quick getaway needed to be made.

Carl did the honors testing the lineup of the last three sniper ditches on either side of the road. He did target practice from inside the hot, square holes lined with stone from the rock quarry. They were deep enough to hide you if you crouched, and covered in a way that you'd still be hidden in the earth if you needed to stand up and aim for a clean shot.

By the time they took a break for lunch, both father and son were sweating and red-faced under the increasingly intense afternoon heat.

"Feels like Georgia…" Carl muttered, squinting up at the sun before opening up the modest lunch one of the Alexandrians had prepared for the people on the wall crew.

"Yeah." Rick agreed. He took a bite of the homemade boysenberry and acorn butter sandwich, chewing it with difficulty. "It's beautiful, though."

They ate on in silence for a little while, leaning against the hood of the red Ford Bronco Glenn had taken to driving around more often than any other cars.

"I'm glad you came by this mornin'," the eldest Grimes said, folding up his gummy sandwich and stuffing it back into the wax paper it had been wrapped in. He took a swig of water before continuing: "Thought maybe you'd rather be hangin' around somewhere with Enid."

The pointed look in his father's eyes was not lost on Carl. He smiled softly, still trying to work with his sandwich. He chewed thoughtfully, then offered: "I _like_ spending time with Enid, Dad."

"I know you do, son," Rick conceded, nodding, but didn't look as though he was satisfied with that answer. "I couldn't _help_ but notice. You two've been inseparable for a couple of weeks, now. Was wonderin' when I'd get you back, that's all."

"It hasn't taken my attention away from Judith, or from helping you keep this place, safe." Carl declared, staring right back at his father defiantly. He sighed, realizing something. "Actually...it's made me feel like I have more to lose."

Rick scoffed, amazed by the things rattling around in his young teenager's head. "What?"

"It's no different than how you feel about Michonne."

There was heavy silence as Rick shifted on his feet, looking down at the gravel under his boots. He hadn't expected Carl to say that. To know that. Or to compare that to his crush on a troubled girl. "What's Michonne got to do with it…?" he hedged, turning back to look his boy in the eyes again.

Carl faltered, but continued cautiously: "I just think...if we're gonna talk about one thing...we should go ahead and talk about the other."

"What's 'the other' thing, Carl?" Rick knew he would regret asking, but found the words escaping him anyway.

"I'm not stupid, you know." Carl said, shrugging. "You like spending time with Michonne. A lot."

The forty-two-year-old man laughed and rubbed at his stubble, looking around to make sure they weren't being overheard. "You noticed that, huh?"

"Everyone noticed that. Just like everyone noticed you two disappearing for like an hour last night."

His dad responded with a stiff nod, his eyes glistening with some far off look that resembled a dog being caught nosing through the trash and having no way to hide his guilt. "Carl, about last night..." He couldn't believe _he_ was the one on the spot now. He was the father, not the other way around-but his boy had him on the ropes, he had to admit. "Me and Michonne, we…"

"It's okay, Dad," Carl waved a dismissive hand, cringing slightly. "You don't have to explain. I get it."

"Do you get that it's _different_?" Rick's scratchy drawl was insistent, but earnest. He tilted his head at the younger version of himself, imploring him not to mistake what he had with Michonne for some frivolous crush. "I...I love Michonne." Rick revealed softly, his eyes narrowing as it hit him that he was admitting this out loud for the first time, to his young son of all people. He forced his gaze back to Carl's, stepping closer to him in all seriousness, now. "And I need to know that you're okay with that."

Carl smiled at him from beneath the brown halo of his wavy hair. "It's cool."

"Yeah?" The older man bit his lip, somewhat sheepishly. Carl was very amused, but wanted his father to feel confident, to know that he had his support.

"I love Michonne, too. So does Judith." He shrugged, turning to look out at their handiwork from the last few hours. "She's a Grimes. She's supposed to be."

Rick stood next to his boy, reaching around his slender, sturdy back to clasp him by the shoulder. "You really feel that way?"

The stoic teenager nodded resolutely. "Yeah. I've kinda felt it for a long time, even back at the prison." Carl glanced over at his father's tired, stubbled face. "So have you, I think."

Rick sighed long and hard, squeezing his son's shoulder. He looked out at the road ahead of them, wondering what lurked beyond where he could see or imagine. What dangers were waiting to take his home and his family away from him? Carl? Judith? Michonne…? His son was right. She was his family, and she always had been, the moment he decided that he couldn't bear to give her up to the Governor.

He wished he had Herschel here now to reassure him that he was making the right decisions. Or even Morgan. He couldn't burden his son with all his hopes _and_ worries at once.

"I think I have too, son…" He answered quietly, frowning up at the afternoon sky.

"I'm in love with Enid." Carl said after a while. Rick looked back down at his young face. He looked serious. He had the instinct to deny his son those feelings; to lecture him or underestimate his capability of being sure of them. Carl was a smart, sensitive boy. He always had been. And he'd been through more than a kid his age should've ever had to. So had Enid. So the man simply nodded slowly, letting this notion settle on him, trying it on for size. "And I think we both owe it to ourselves to just go with it, Dad."

Raising his eyebrows, Rick considered his son's earnest enthusiasm for a moment. "I guess we're goin' with it, then."

Carl gave his father a fist bump and they finished their waters in contented silence. Then Heath came to borrow the lanky kid for the erection of a watch perch in a particularly tall tree hidden a half a mile off the road. Rick watched his young man walk away with his gun and knife and old sheriff's hat. He remembered, like it was just yesterday, when Carl was half that size and his head practically disappeared into that hat. When the gun he was training with was nearly twice as big as his twelve-year-old hands. That wasn't the case anymore, though.

His boy was a man, now. _I think we both owe it to ourselves to just go with it_...he'd said.

Rick nodded to no one in particular, his thoughts now taking a sudden and dramatic turn toward Michonne. He could not wait to get home to her. He was gonna take his son's advice.

* * *

 _Closer to the present..._

Jessie sat in the dark, smoking a cigarette, drinking the last of the party beer, thinking about Carol's words.

She had no idea how long she sat there on her porch, drinking the last of the party beer, sometimes with tears streaming down her cheeks, sometimes smiling bitterly. But she thought long and hard about what Carol said. She thought about it, and she realized that that mean old witch was right. She _was_ being weak. And stupid. She was allowing herself to be depressed. She _wanted_ to be depressed. She _wanted_ Rick to feel sorry for her, because deep down she knew that was the only way he might deign to...touch her again...hold her...kiss her...want her. But who would want such a pathetic mess? Carol's words had stung like hell, but Jessie had to admit to herself, sitting in the dark, that they were the fucking truth.

Rick came trudging up the block, his unmistakable silhouette and bow-legged gait singing to her in the dark. She watched him come, her cigarette burning until she had a tower of ash. At first his head was down as he rubbed his neck wearily, coming up around the bend in the little hill that lead to his end of the street. But he would notice her soon, she knew. He would look up and see her and stop and ask her how she was. Ask after Sam. Apologize to her again for his gross display of lust after Michonne, right in her face like she was invisible. And she would accept his apology and prove to him that she could be better. She could be what he wanted; what he needed.

But Rick didn't look up. He didn't pause. She sat in the dark on her porch, and he walked right past her like she wasn't there. His gaze was fixed on his house, where she knew Michonne was waiting for him.

Her heart broke all over again as she stared at Rick's retreating back, walking more determinedly up the hill until he disappeared around the tree that separated her yard from their neighbor's. She sat there numbly, her cigarette now completely out and the ash having fallen across the porch swing to dust the rim of her shoe.

Carol's words became a violent crescendo in her head. Weak. Stupid.

A few minutes later, Carl and Enid passed by. Carl waved at her but didn't stop. Enid tried to offer a smile, but Jessie could barely see it in the dark. She didn't react. She just watched them as they headed toward the Monroe home. It felt bitterly unfair to Jessie that these people had taken over this place to such a degree. Both Deanna and Reg were gone and now their clumsy son was shacking up with Maggie and Glenn like they were one big happy family. They came here and preached 'fight or die' but _they_ were the ones who brought all the danger. Rick had his hands in everything. Michonne was constantly bossing people around. And Carol was...a nasty piece of work as far as Jessie was concerned. She managed to fool everyone with that Mommy Casserole act, but not Jessie.

But maybe that was just the thing. Like she kept telling Sam, "pretend you're brave." Maybe the thing for Jessie to do, until she felt like it was true, was to pretend like she didn't care. Pretend Rick didn't matter to her. Pretend like she was brave, and focused, and ready to work; like she was happy for them.

It was time to stop wallowing in self-induced misery and show them both (show them _all_ ) that she was no doormat.

The first thing she was going to do was call Rick on his bullshit. Right now.

He was going to give her a job. Tonight.

Jessie put her cigarette out (even though it had long since extinguished) in the ashtray next to her thigh on the porch swing and got up, smoothing her hair down with nervous hands.

She put on a poker face and made her way steadily to the Grimes' doorstep.

* * *

The crickets were making a racket in the otherwise heavy evening silence that blanketed the picturesque town.

Jessie stood on the porch, illuminated by the gold lamplight shining down on her from the top of the door frame. She waited. Rang the bell one more time for good measure. She suspected they might be ignoring her, all caught up in each other.

She pushed down the swell of jealousy and mortification that threatened to break her resolve. That was just too bad. She wasn't leaving until she got what she came for.

Finally, she heard heavy footsteps descending the stairs inside and seconds later the lock clicked loudly. Her heart skipped a beat as the door swung open, revealing Rick at the threshold.

He was still in his clothes from the day, emanating the musky, pleasant scent of sweat and earth and the metallic residue from handling guns all day. She had more than once lay awake in her bed all night, thinking of wrapping her naked thighs around him with his ass peeking out of his dirty jeans, having him push into her with that scent surrounding her.

His bright blue eyes latched onto hers and for a split second she could see he was annoyed at having to deal with an unexpected visitor. But as soon as he registered that it was her, he quickly masked his impatience with an expression of concern. Jessie was momentarily speechless, thinking back to when she first met him, watching him leaning slightly to the side, looking every bit as handsome and rugged as an urban cowboy on the cover of some slick, modern-day romance novel. Except _she_ wasn't the love interest in this piece of elaborate fiction. Michonne was.

"Jessie…? Hey." He stepped out onto the porch, leaving the door slightly ajar. "Sorry, I was just puttin' Jude to bed for the night. Everythin' alright?"

Jessie steeled herself, remembering her mission, casting aside the lingering physical attraction that always drove her actions around this intense, inscrutable man.

"No, it's not." She began, hating how minuscule her voice sounded. She pushed on, crossing her arms and shaking a lock of blonde hair out of her face. Rick frowned, shifting on his feet, but didn't say anything. "I want a job, Rick. I want to wake up tomorrow with a purpose. I think, after everything, you should at least hear me out. Don't you think you owe me that?"

He considered her for a moment, unable to stop his eyes from darting around warily. Some part of him would never stop being suspicious, never stop looking for trouble around every corner. Jessie showing up like this was unusual. She usually came around when she was invited, to pick up Judith or drop off Sam, or give Carl a trim.

He didn't know if she could see how distracted he was, how anxious he was to get back inside (where Michonne was waiting for him in nothing but her panties and a tank top), or if she noticed that his jeans were exceptionally snug. He didn't know if she could truly see in his eyes what he was thinking: that he _didn't_ owe her that, but he would grant it because she'd been through alot-even though everything that happened would've happened eventually, without him having a hand in moving things along.

Then again, he didn't much care if she realized that or not. He kicked his mind into problem-solving mode and nodded, his frown deepening. "Well, I was gonna talk to a few people first thing, get everyone's buy in, but I _do_ have a job for you, Jessie."

"Doing what?" She said coldly, but he could tell her heart wasn't really in it. He sighed, feeling sorry for her and hating it.

She wasn't going to like it. But he wasn't going to offer her anything else. He had thought about it all day-it solved more than just her issue of feeling useless (once she got over it, anyway). It made things so that they wouldn't have to run into each other much unless there was an emergency. It put her in a role that he trusted her with more than anything else.

He rubbed his chin and pressed on, looking her squarely in the eyes. "I think you should familiarize yourself with the infirmary. Get trained to be Denise's assistant."

Jessie balked, her pale face going even whiter under the yellow porch light. She was insulted and let down, but Rick stood his ground. "You want me to be a nurse? Are you kidding?"

Rick shook his head, stepping closer to her. Michonne was a fixture in the back of his mind. He needed to get this done and get back upstairs. "A nurse, a surgical assistant-whatever Denise needs. And she _does_ need the help."

"But…" Jessie blinked rapidly, truly at a loss, truly insulted that he saw her as some out of the way nursemaid for the doctor with no self-confidence. "What-what about Tara? What about watch shifts? Or runs? What about all those booby-traps and sniper ditches you've been building around this place for weeks? Can't I be assigned to one of _them_?"

Rick allowed her her questions, but shut each one of them down nonchalantly. "We need _Tara_ on watch; her skills as a marksman are too valuable. And we're covered on everythin' else."

Jessie bit her lip hard, bouncing her foot in agitation against the sturdy wood of the porch. She couldn't think of how to push back. She was too angry and hurt to formulate a defense for herself. This wasn't going the way she'd intended at all. Showing up here to put on a show of resolve and confidence in hopes that he'd see the fighter hiding inside her was backfiring, quickly.

The battle-weary older man tried a different tack, ready to wrap this up.

"I think it'd be good for you and Sam. Keep you out of immediate danger; give you time to focus on him until he's back to himself again." He gestured to nothing in particular, squinting at her intently. "Denise was in psychology out of med school. I know she could help."

Jessie hated everything he was saying. She further hated that he had convinced himself that his 'concern' for her and Sam would actually sooth her bruised ego. Incredibly, he kept going.

"And it would give _me_ some peace of mind, knowing you'll be there for Judith or Carl...or Maggie, or...Michonne... _saving_ lives instead of havin' to take them. It's a lot tougher job than you think. Can you handle it?" He didn't want to be rude to her, but his reserve of patience was almost totally tapped at this point. He hoped his last remarks would let her know that his mind was made up.

She had no retort. Nothing to lob at him; to fight with. She couldn't mention what she'd overheard between him and Carol. She didn't want to face his anger or mistrust. She had to keep him on her side, or at least pretending to be. Finally, she nodded, though she didn't attempt to hide the disappointment on her face. "So, there's nothing else, then. You're sure about that."

Rick sighed again, rubbing the back of his neck. She was really pushing her luck. "Look, if you want, we can take a vote on it. It's what I think is best, but it doesn't have to be my decision alone." He was trying to be diplomatic, anything to satisfy her and get her off his porch. She looked like she still wanted to argue, but he wasn't about to stand here all night waiting for her to gather her thoughts. He had more pressing matters to attend to. Certainly a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

And he suddenly remembered that he had kissed this woman, not too long ago. And never so much as brought it up afterward.

He dropped his hand from his neck and avoided her eyes, preparing himself to bring it up now.

Jessie realized why he had suddenly gone stiff and silent, and she narrowed her eyes to slits, too angry over his banishment to the infirmary to want anything to do with what he was about to say.

" _Don't._ Rick? Just...don't."

He nodded slowly, relieved that it wouldn't have to be tonight. Jessie sighed and ran a hand through her hair, desperately needing to get the hell off this porch and smoke a cigarette. She shouldn't have come over here, interrupting whatever the hell it was he was doing with Michonne, to ask him for a job. He didn't take her seriously, and how could he? Carol's voice was in her head again. Stupid. Weak.

Rick finally looked up at her and she could see in his face that he had nothing left to say. She had let him off the hook and their little chat was over.

"If you wanna take a vote, I'll get everybody together tomorrow. I have a few other things to mention, anyway."

Jessie nodded and backed up. He simply watched her go before she turned and stalked down the porch steps, out into the street. She heard the door shut and the lock click before her shoes even touched the curb.

The petite blonde crushed her eyes shut, reeling, reaching blindly into her jeans to dig out her crumpled pack of Marlboro Lights.

She stumbled across the street to stand in the shadows under a cluster of trees, lighting the cigarette with shaking hands. She couldn't bear to go back to her dark, cold, cavernous house with her demented son and her empty bed. Not just yet. Unwillingly, her eyes rose from the street, tears blurring her vision, to the second floor of the Grimes house.

Michonne was visible in one of the windows. She was standing against the wall, her head leaned back, her eyes closed. Like she was meditating.

But a second later, her eyes popped open and she focused on something across from her. She let loose a slow smile, and then Rick was there. Jessie blinked, startled. Her heart sank as she took in the sight of Rick kissing Michonne hard, pressing his whole body against hers, grinding into her, forcing her back against the wall. They kissed hungrily right before Jessie's eyes, the open blinds making them clear as day to her while the light in the room made her invisible to them. Rick sucked hard on Michonne's bottom lip, then let her go to whisper roughly in her ear. Michonne giggled. It was odd to see such a carefree expression disrupt her normally unflappable demeanor.

Jessie watched in silence, taking long drags of her cigarette. Her heart feeling like it was being stabbed with every second that passed. She couldn't look away. She needed to see this. Needed to remind herself just who she was dealing with. Rick Grimes never gave a fucking shit about her. He was selfish and crazy and he had ruined her life. And now he was fucking the woman he'd really wanted all along. Jessie was nothing more than a mirage to him.

She got lost in her thoughts, but quickly focused again on the pornographic scene playing out to her from the upstairs bedroom.

Rick had gotten on his knees, partially hidden from view, and snatched Michonne's panties down her legs. Then he turned her around so he could eat her out from behind. Jessie had to take off running towards her house when she saw the top of his face dive between Michonne's ass cheeks.

* * *

Rick closed the door on Jessie's retreating back, relieved.

And just as quickly as the lock was turned, he was focusing solely on getting back upstairs to Michonne.

He took the stairs two at a time, then paused to collect himself-shake off his lingering annoyance with Jessie's unexpected visit-before nudging the door open again. She was still leaning against the wall, her head back and her eyes closed. She was gorgeous. An sexy as all hell.

Michonne had been waiting for him, motionless, listening but trying not to hear what was going on downstairs on the front porch. She could tell by the tone of the female voice floating up to her in faint echoes that it was Jessie. Rick's much deeper echoes reached her ears in response to Jessie's, and it sounded like they were either arguing or talking about something serious. Michonne had tuned them out, not wishing to take up space in her head worrying about Jessie Anderson right now.

And finally Rick was upstairs again.

Jessie forgotten, he walked into the room, right up to her. Her eyes popped open and she watched him coming with startled excitement, smiling as he crashed into her, his hands roaming everywhere.

Rick wasted no time claiming her deliciously soft lips with his, grinding himself into her so she could feel how hard he was; how desperate he was for her. She whimpered, melting against him as he pressed her into the wall and rubbed his intoxicatingly thick, hard length along her inner thigh, right up to the parting of her legs. She opened herself wider, desperately needing his bulge to connect with her clit. He understood exactly what she wanted. Rick's back bowed over as he angled himself into her, his tongue diving into her mouth at the same time that his trapped, throbbing dick rubbed against her swollen bud through her sopping wet panties.

The deep, exquisite moan that escaped her lips into his mouth made him even harder. Later, he was going to fuck her long, and hard, and slow. But right now, he wanted to taste every inch of her pussy. He'd been thinking about it all day, and now that he finally had her at his mercy, he was going to get it done.

He let go of her lips and leaned in to whisper in her ear: "I think I'll have my dinner now."

Michonne giggled, high on the sound of his gravelly voice and his hot breath caressing her neck. She was so good and ready for whatever he considered 'dinner'.

Rick held her against the wall with his hands at her waist as he planted indulgent, damp kisses along her neck, collarbone, chest, breasts through her tank top, stomach, and finally all along her panty line. He dipped his tongue out and let it run the length of her inner thigh along her panties to her pelvic bone.

She shivered, unable to stop herself from grabbing his thick, curly hair and digging her fingers in to massage his scalp. Her entire body was fine-tuned to hum with every hot, wet, sticky touch of his plump lips and tongue against her skin. Her pussy _yearned_ for his mouth.

He had her right where he wanted her.

He looked up just long enough to see that she had her head tilted back again, her eyes crushed shut, hanging on his every move. Good.

Rick snatched her panties down her legs, ripped them off her feet and tossed them over his shoulder. Then he gripped her by the hips and spun her around until she was facing the wall. She instinctively braced herself with her hands, but otherwise didn't protest. Her gorgeous ass was in his face now, her juices glistening between her cheeks, beckoning to him. Rick was mesmerized by the sight, his mouth parted, his lips moist. He closed his eyes and leaned in, his tongue diving between her cheeks to taste her tender, soaking wet sex.

Rick licked her from the back of her pussy to the top of her asshole, groaning with satisfaction as he did so. Michonne cried out breathlessly, her fingers scratching at the wall in an uncontrollable reaction to the incredible feel of his thick, hot tongue fondling the most personal and forbidden spot on her body. He lingered there, letting go of her hips to part her cheeks with his fingers, giving him more room to do it justice. He licked her in circles, only pausing to suck on the plump meat of her ass or let his saliva leave his mouth to lubricate her even more for him. Michonne felt like she was leaving her body as he forced her on her tiptoes with the sheer intensity of his administrations.

He was ravenous, and she was always clean as a whistle and smelling divine since they moved here and she started up with her pampering. So Rick indulged, settling in on his knees, gripping her ass cheeks as he licked and sucked her like she was his last meal on earth.

Michonne let loose a wild moan when he slapped her on her right cheek, the sensation vibrating right to her clit. Then he dove in again, his tongue licking every last drop of saliva and precum from her hole before he leaned back and licked his lips. He couldn't help grinning proudly as he watched her gather her wits, sliding her hands all along the wall as she lowered herself flat on her feet again.

She turned to find him still on his knees, gazing at her hungrily, his mouth and chin still glistening with the evidence. She couldn't fucking _wait_ to find out what he was going to do next. And he did not disappoint.

Rick wiped his mouth, gliding to his feet, the predatory glare in his pale blue eyes resembling wolf's orbs. Shit, she was _in for it_. Michonne felt like her whole body was burning up, trapped by his gaze, her sex so slick and throbbing so intensely that she had to swallow.

He had been careful not to touch her pussy with his tongue while he licked her from behind. He was reserving that part. He knew she was aching for him, but he wanted her screaming his name before this was over with.

Rick was on his feet now, and he reached down to palm his hard dick while Michonne ran a hand through her locs. She eyed him intensely but didn't speak. The look on her gorgeous face reminded him of the day he met her. When she was glaring up at him from the prison floor, bloody and radiant from her sweat and the water he'd poured on her to shock her awake. He had felt himself going hard for her then, and he was sure as shit solid as a rock for her now.

"On your knees, baby." He gestured to the bed and bit his lip sexily, keeping her trapped by his gaze. "I'm not done with you yet…"

Rick was intentionally making his voice smooth and coaxing. Intentionally letting her read all the dirty thoughts in his mind through his eyes. Letting her see how much he wanted her with the example of his steel erection; he palmed it unabashedly, letting her know that it was for _her_. She would have it in due time, hard and slow. He wanted her dripping. He wanted to feast until there was nothing left.

He knew that if he did this right, she would let him do it again any time he wanted to; at least he hoped.

He _loved_ the taste of her. He'd been remembering it all day. She tasted something like cinnamon or sweet butter with brown sugar mixed into it. Her pussy was heaven on earth, and he couldn't wait to indulge himself again.

Michonne did as he asked without a word. Her silent obedience turned him on somethin' fierce. She had so many tricks up her sleeve, and he was a slave to them all.

Tingling from her head to her toes, Michonne took off her shirt and tossed it aside. Then she settled upright on her knees on the bed, facing the wall again. She felt Rick's weight as he climbed on behind her, and to her delight he wasted no time lying on his back underneath her.

The top of his head appeared between her legs, his dark brown curls beckoning to her. Her insatiable man grabbed her thighs and pulled her down onto his face, his damp, full lips reaching up to kiss her pussy tenderly. His steamy breath, pillow-soft lips, scratchy stubble and warm skin were instant turn-ons, and Michonne moaned softly, already immensely enjoying herself in this position. Then she felt his scorching tongue, parting her to lap at her juices without preamble.

He also parted her cheeks again, holding her weight with the palms of his hands as he balanced her above him, licking and sucking at her slowly. He groaned, his throaty emission vibrating against her uber sensitive skin. She gasped and reached down to clutch at his hair when he finally made his way to her clit, sucking on it hard before licking it in slow, tender circles.

She braced herself with her free hand against the wall, her dreadlocs covering her face as Rick's thick tongue played with her clit, his strong fingers gripping the meat of her ass.

He couldn't get enough of her. He angled his body upward, his eyes shut tight, feasting on Michonne's warm, tangy-sweet center. He tongued her clit with tender devotion and licked between her lips, egged on by the gasps and quiet moans she gave him, or her elegant fingers tugging on his hair.

He wanted to feel her cum on his face.

Michonne's beautifully toned body was perched over his head and chest, her devastating ass cupped in his hands, riding his face with her hair covering hers, so lost was she in ecstasy. She felt herself riding closer and closer to the edge as Rick alternated between sucking on her clit and driving his tongue into her center. When he let go of one of her ass cheeks to thrust two fingers into her, she almost lost it. He pumped her steadily while he ate her pussy, grunting as his movements pushed her ass up and down on top of him. He delighted in fucking her with his fingers, concentrating on sucking her clit and thrusting them in and out of her faster and faster, losing himself in her tender sex, never wanting it to stop, but determined to bring her crashing down around him. "Come on, baby…" he growled with her quivering bud still between his lips, thrusting his fingers still harder, licking and sucking her, so fuckin' in love with her. "Cum for me."

And she did not disappoint. His dusky-skinned warrior shuddered violently and practically screamed, " _Ohhh my_ _ **gooodddd**_ _, Riiiiiiiiick!_ "

He lapped up every drop as Michonne's cum came dripping down into his mouth. Her thighs spasmed and her fingers tugged painfully on his hair, but he simply held her and licked at her, patiently allowing her to ride it out on top of him. His nose was full of her intoxicating scent, his mouth full of her juicy, spasming pussy, his fingers still inside her as her molten walls gripped them over and over again involuntarily. Finally she stilled and blew her thick dreads away from her face, coming down from it.

Rick reverently licked a few last drops from her folds before letting her go. She practically slid off his face to collapse next to him on the bed in a blissful, lethargic heap.

"Fuck you." Michonne croaked, so satisfied that she was in danger of dozing off right then. Though she knew she wouldn't as the sound of his throaty chuckling reached her ears.

She opened her eyes to see him massaging his still-rock-hard cock through his jeans. His blue eyes were shining keenly at her. Michonne licked her lips as he uttered suggestively: "Get on top."

She wasted no time straddling him, her delicate fingers tugging at his belt to free his thick, hard dick.

* * *

 _Earlier that afternoon…_

Carol spotted Rick, walking alone towards the pantry to get more water for the wall crew, and figured now was as good a time as any.

"Hey boss," she called from her position smoking a cigarette on the corner by the church. "Got a minute?"

Rick stopped in his tracks, frowning over at her under the glare of the sun. "Sure. What's up?"

Carol gestured that he follow her away from the pantry-and any prying ears that might be lurking around. "Take a walk with me."

Rick hesitated, looking around, before following her already retreating form through the trees between the church and the private little cemetery back there. Today was apparently gonna be the day for tough talks, he could already tell. He wondered who else was gonna bring up something today that he'd been dreading discussing. "What is it, Carol?"

She started with the light stuff as he fell easily in step beside her, taking another drag from her cigarette. "I'm thinking of moving out. Tonight, probably."

He glanced over at her, startled. He had been expecting to talk about Morgan. "Why's that?"

She shrugged. "It's time. There are plenty of empty houses to pick from after the Wolves and that herd. And...you look like you could use the privacy."

Rick couldn't help a sarcastic smirk from forcing its way into his expression. "Very funny."

"Oh _please_." Carol gave him a look. "You think I'm too old to remember what new couples do? That, sort of, frenzied state you get in when you finally discover that you love each other? I know all about that, Slim, trust me."

The gruff group leader shifted uncomfortably but nodded in concession. He wouldn't bother arguing. It wasn't a bad idea. He had actually been wondering how they were going to arrange another night to themselves with so many people in the house. "Fair enough. Well, thank you. For considering us...I guess."

"It'll be nice to have some time to myself, too."

"Let me know where you end up, then. I'll send Daryl to collect his winnings when he gets back." He raised an eyebrow at her, looking at her sideways. "He's off with Aaron gettin' you the stuff to make apple cobbler. You know, for you bet?"

She laughed out loud, covering her mouth with her hand. "Ohhhh, right. That. We were drunk. Had to pass the time somehow. Sorry."

"You're forgiven…" Rick moved a low-hanging branch out of her way as they emerged out onto another block, the one behind the main street, where a row of empty brownstones lay hidden. He paused, his frown returning. "Why are we back here?"

When he turned to look at her again, she was gazing at him silently, her gray eyes holding a mixture of thoughtfulness and something he couldn't quite assign an emotion to. "I can already see the change in you, Rick. Being with Michonne...I'm grateful for it."

He shifted to a taller, more defensive stance, readying himself for the other side of that coin. He tilted his head at her, not wishing to be distracted by her observations about his relationship with Michonne anymore. He could sense there was something else on her mind, some reason she'd led him back to the street no one really spent time on, unless they wanted to be hidden from the rest of the community.

" _Why are we back here_ , Carol?"

Carol sighed and tossed her cigarette out, stepping on it. "I got somethin' to show you."

She started walking without another word, and he followed her. They crossed the street towards one of the brownstones on the left. Rick kept up with her easily, his boots scarcely making a sound in the heavy afternoon silence. Carol led him down to the basement floor of the house, where she pulled out some keys and unlocked the door. Before she opened it, she turned to him, her eyes beseeching.

"Just...promise me you'll let me explain. Okay? There's a good reason for this."

Rick merely nodded, his lips dry, his heart pounding. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Carol watched him for a few seconds longer, then stepped back, opening the door so he could go in first. He did so, staring hard at his surroundings, reaching to cradle his gun in his palm, just in case.

When he went into the room to his right, what he saw made him stop dead in his tracks. He stared at the scene for a long time, in complete shock, anger, and suspicion. Carol stood behind him, her eyes flickering from the bloody, sick, unconscious man chained up on the floor to the back of Rick's neck warily. He glared at the man with a 'W' carved in his forehead, then turned slowly to meet her gaze with fire in his eyes.

"What the _hell_ have you done?" he growled.


	5. love, fear, and beer: part i

A/N: Hi there! So, a few things. 1) **THANK YOU ALL SOOOOO, SOOOOOO MUUUUUUCH FOR YOUR REVIEWS!** I've read them over and over, an obscene amount. They keep me motivated and inspired, so thank you for sticking with this story! 2) **THIS IS A LONG ONE.** So long, I had to break it up into two parts, two chapters. 3) That's because I have _so much planned_. This has essentially turned into an epic rewrite of 6B for me. Oops! 4) There will be. More. Smut. Lots, lots, lots more. ENJOY!

* * *

 _so come on, love_

 _draw your swords_

 _shoot me to the ground_

 _you are mine_

 _I am yours_

 _let's not fuck around_

-Angus & Julia Stone, "Draw Your Swords"

* * *

Rick's dick was so hard it was turning purple.

Michonne could _feel_ the veins pulsing as she slid her wet folds slowly up and down the length of him from his head to where it still lay tucked into the top of his jeans. He was still trapped. She had his belt open, but refused to free him until she'd teased the shit out of him. He was burning up and hard as sin, but he was a slave to her tongue sliding around in his mouth, her plump lips sucking on his, and her steamy pussy soaking his swollen head. Her skin was so smooth, soft, and warm; it was firm but it gave to his grip so willingly.

The small of her back was arched in a perfect little backward 'C', her dreads falling down her back to graze his forearms every time she moved her head while they kissed. He was clinging to her so snugly that her breasts were pressing into him, their slight, luscious weight tantalizing him through the fabric of his shirt. He let go of her lips and dipped his head of soft brown curls so that he could lick one of her round, pert nipples into his mouth like a Hershey's Kiss. He rolled his tongue around it languidly before sucking on it with a bit of pressure, causing her to close her eyes and bite her lip as the sensation sent shivers through her.

Rick made Michonne feel like a fucking teenager. Her favorite thing in the world right now was rubbing herself against him-hearing him grunt as she pressed her swollen clit into him, grinding _slow_ as he sucked and licked her between his thick, feather-soft lips.

His tongue and his hands and his _dick_ felt _so_ _good_. His scent was all around her. It was the musk of exhaustion and arousal and something she couldn't name; it was spicy and tantalizing and it was just so _Rick Grimes_. She lost herself in moving her hips gracefully back and forward, her ass parting slightly against the bulging crotch of his jeans. Michonne was so turned on that she leaked fresh precum all over him, grinding into his thick length so slowly that all he could do was groan. She was utterly hypnotized by the way he squeezed her ass in his strong hands and pushed her down against him so he could feel every inch of her sex that touched his. Every time his thick purple head slipped out from between her legs on the downturn, right against her clit, it made her shiver. _Mmmm_...she loved the scratch of his stubble against her skin as he licked and sucked on each of her breasts, and the sporadic twitch of his dick, still partially trapped in his stiff jeans between her legs.

"Baby, you're drivin' me _crazy…_ " Rick finally let go of her nipple and whispered roughly against her mouth, squeezing her possessively. He stroked his swollen head along her wet folds yet again, aiming for her clit with a heavy, impatient sigh.

Michonne felt him long and hard, smashed against her clit, and she wanted to fuck the shit out of him right then. But she smiled, knowing that he was really going to hate what she was about to do instead. To put a Band-Aid on it, she gave him one last, sultry kiss.

"Hold that thought, cowboy."

He didn't want to let her lips go as she pulled away from him, sliding off of his lap and out of the reach of his grasping hands.

"Where are you goin'?" He demanded in a husky voice, sitting up abruptly as if to chase her down.

"Just stay put, Grimes. I'll be right back." Michonne said coyly from behind the veil of her long locs. She turned off the lamp before tip-toeing naked out of the room, into the dark hallway.

Rick let out a heavy sigh, falling back down onto her pillows with a huff. He ran one hand through his hair and rubbed his dick with the other, wondering what the hell she was up to. He was _desperate_ to fuck her. Her teasing had almost driven him over the edge. She was gonna pay for it. He was gonna make her scream again. His mind made up, Rick kicked off his boots and relaxed. He waited, still stroking his length that was now coated in her juices. He could smell her scent all over him, and it served to only make him painfully harder. He needed her to come back-quickly.

Michonne tiptoed down the hall to Carl's new digs. He'd wasted no time tonight moving into Carol's old room; she knew he was ecstatic to have the space, and the time to himself. He was a growing boy, and sharing a room with both his father and sister had to be getting old. She shook away thoughts of Carl and focused on her mission, quickly searching the room for any of the condoms they'd gotten from Denise earlier.

Jackpot: she found them stuffed into the top drawer of his dresser, hidden under a pile of socks. It made her smile that he had plenty of socks; little things like that had been nonexistent when they were out in the open. And video games. And books. And food. And water. And hope.

Michonne shook herself out of those bittersweet memories, stole two condoms, and hurried out of the room. She had business to attend to. Specifically one very erect, sexy as fuck Rick Grimes, waiting for her in her bed.

He had pulled off his shirt and was on the point of rising to his feet to go find and carry her back here (over his shoulder if he had to), but she appeared suddenly. He could only slowly fall back in bed, gazing at her, mesmerized as she crossed the room. Her hips swayed and her legs looked good enough to eat as she sauntered her way toward the bed, and him. She was a slim, sexy, dark-skinned goddess, her locs falling into her face as she walked. She was holding something behind her back.

Rick licked his lips and sat up, his dick halfway out of his pants and hard as a rock.

"I missed you…" he uttered, reaching for her. He took hold of her by the thighs, pulling her closer.

Michonne revealed her secret: two condoms, wrapped in shiny sky blue foil. She tossed one onto the nightstand and put the other in her mouth to tear the seal, standing over him as he gently stroked her soft skin. Rick wanted to ask her where she got them, or how, but just as suddenly he didn't care. He would get to cum inside her, albeit also inside those miraculous condoms she'd conjured up. Still...he was so excited his dick jumped and twitched, and he let go of just one of her legs to unzip his jeans, his mouth parted as he finally freed himself.

Michonne wasted no time straddling him, and he exhaled a tense, shallow breath at finally having her weight on him again. She made quick work of removing the condom from its wrapper as he kissed her neck, and he hurriedly pulled his throbbing cock all the way free of his pants. Michonne rolled the condom down onto his head, then down along his twitching shaft. Rick quickly lifted her with both hands cupping her luscious ass, thrusting into her powerfully.

 _Holy hell_ -she was so wet, and hot, and _tight_. He thrust again, and she moaned into his mouth as his lips parted hers to suck on her tongue hungrily. Rick had planned to fuck her nice and slow, but she felt too damned good. He'd been waiting for this all day. He'd gotten a second wind, just from tasting her, and he was gonna use it.

Groaning deep in his throat, he started thrusting into her powerfully, then faster. He bounced her up and down his hard cock, losing himself in her lips and her juicy pussy; her hot canal taking him in again and again and again.

The snug condom felt foreign to him, after so long of having no need or thought for one, but it only slightly dimmed the real skin on skin contact. Michonne felt so intoxicating around him that Rick barely noticed he had it on. He was so lost in her that all he could think about was hitting her deep inside as many times as she could take. So he did...and she responded by shuddering and moaning for him as he plundered her molten depths.

After a few more powerful thrusts, he adjusted them so that he was sitting up on the side of the bed, bouncing Michonne on his lap. He carried on without mercy, taking kisses from her plush, damp lips as he fucked her.

Soon, however, he became so overwhelmed that he _had_ to slow down. He wanted this to last. Practically drunk on how good she felt, Rick flipped them over one more time so that he was lying on top of her. He stared into her eyes, pushing into her slowly, her heat sheathing his throbbing cock slick and tight...he rocked into her over and over again, slowly yet powerfully. She took him with a small, breathless moan each time, wrapping her legs around him and grabbing hold of his thrusting ass to intensify both their pleasure. _God_ , she felt so good. He buried his face into her neck and tried to disappear inside her.

Michonne felt the tingle of release slithering its way through her pussy from her clit every time he stroked at just the right angle, rubbing her there faster and faster. He felt deliciously heavy on top of her, and he was so intense; his strong cock was solid and devastating as he plunged into her.

After a while, he was unable to keep from gazing longingly into her eyes...unable to stop the words from escaping his lips against hers as her sex enveloped his throbbing need. Those three little words. They'd been hovering in his heart and mind whenever he looked at her for a long time. Too long. He _had_ to say them. So he did. They came out so breathless and soft that she almost didn't hear him.

"I love you…" He thrust into her possessively as he said them, gripping her flesh, crushing his lips against hers.

Michonne felt lightning rush through her at those words, and she came all over him. He kept thrusting as she quivered and quaked, drenching his stiff cock with her cum. " _Mmmmm_ …. _fuuuuuck!_ "

He loved the way she announced when she was cumming, her smooth voice wavering in time to her shuddering sex. Her moans propelled him forward and he buried his face into her neck once again, closing his eyes as he drilled into her harder and faster now, chasing his own release.

"I love you, too, Rick..." Michonne whispered in his ear as he came, finally, his seed gushing into her, barred by the condom, with powerful crashes of his hips against hers.

Rick curled himself around her, shuddering one last time as the grip of his orgasm finally let go of him. For a moment, all he could do was breathe hard against her neck, making her skin tingle pleasantly. Michonne stroked his hair as his weight settled down on her. His skin was hot and sticky, his lips grazing her collarbone as he caught his breath before lifting his head again to get a look at her face.

"Yeah?" He asked huskily, his beautiful eyes hopeful yet fully bloomed from their lovemaking.

Michonne smiled up at him, running her fingers through his curls. "Yeah."

He could see that she meant it. It sent a crashwave of relief flooding through him. It was the last nail in the coffin. He was done for.

Rick suddenly grinned at her, those shiney blues of his making her heart flutter. He shook his head at her in wonder. "You are so _goddamned beautiful_ , Michonne." And she was _his_. He felt it in his bones, it tingled through his whole body. This was love, and Rick was gonna see to it that it would be with _Michonne_ for the rest of his life.

He pulled out of her gently, removing the condom she'd blessed him with and leaning over to toss it in the trash. He pulled off his jeans and underwear from bunched up around his ankles and tossed those aside, too. Michonne watched him patiently, a lethargic, satisfied smile playing at her beautiful lips.

"I knew you were gonna be trouble that day we met," he rasped as he settled back in bed with her, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close to him.

"News to me…" she joked, causing him to chuckle and squeeze her tightly in retaliation. She laughed quietly as he kissed her neck, nudging his already semi-hard length into her.

"I mean, _besides_ the hostility and distrust." He kissed her skin a few more times, exhaling forcefully and nudging her again, completely drawn in by her. "You had this pull on me." He confessed, his deep tenor coated in a thick Southern drawl. "I never felt anythin' like it. When I saw you out there at the fences, surrounded by walkers, but _still_ alive...I made the decision that second to go get you. I had to speak to you, no matter how dangerous it was. I wanted to have you even then."

He had made up his mind about Michonne before the Governor ever made his offer. He was just being a stubborn jackass, refusing to acknowledge what he could feel all along. She was something special, he knew it from the moment he saw her. And the more he grew to know her, the surer he became that she was a godsend. It wasn't just the sex (though the sex was now officially his favorite thing in the world next to his kids and he knew he was going to wear her out before long). It was everything about her, his Michonne. She was everything he wasn't, yet somehow she was completely in tune with everything he _was_. She didn't flinch away from him, ever. Not when she met him, staring at him through that fence, not when she saw what he was willing to do to protect his kids, not even when he'd lost his mind. And she wasn't flinching away from him now that he'd told her he loved her, after only hours of being intimate with each other. She made him feel like a lovesick teenager.

And he was hard again, just thinking about it. He stopped spilling his guts in favor of kissing Michonne in earnest, now. He slowly caressed her skin with his tongue and followed it up with a few hot, damp kisses from his lips.

"I'm still hungry." He whispered against her neck, pressing his brand new erection into her.

Michonne laughed quietly, and he smiled into her hair, pleased that she liked his corny, suggestive jokes. He loved to make her smile. The sight of those gorgeous lips turned up into one of her radiant smiles, coupled with the sound of her cool, quiet laughter, made Rick yearn to be inside her again. Fresh precum oozed from his head, lubricating him as he rubbed himself into her supple rear. Michonne stopped laughing and turned her face toward his.

"Against the wall…" she hissed softly, rubbing her ass into his dick. She was all wet and gooey from her last orgasm. He was going to sink right into her when they joined again. And he was going to make her cum again. They both knew it. The intent flowed through them like an electric current, skin to skin, body to body.

Rick grinned, kissing her passionately, bucking into her with excitement before letting her go to stand.

Michonne unfurled herself as he rose to his feet, and he paused to admire how gorgeous she was. By day she was a stoic, fierce warrior, but at night she was a slinky, sexy cat, practically purring at him. In this bed, in his arms, Michonne was Rick's muse. He would do anything for her, both out there and in _here_. He stroked himself, licking his lips. He wanted her again, something fierce.

She stood up and leaned into him. They were drawn to each other like magnets. Their warm skin caressed each other's, making him inhale indulgently as he ran his nose and mouth along her slender, graceful neck. She smelled so good. Rick wrapped her in his arms and squeezed her ass when she wrapped her smooth, cool fingers around his dick. She used his precum and the remnants of her juices to get him slippery for her as she stroked him. He was tingling from his balls to his head and he kissed her hard as he backed her into the wall between the nightstand and the window, where they'd started this thing. Rick almost hoped Carl would disobey him and take his time talking Glenn's ear off...he wanted to fuck Michonne all night, undisturbed.

She stroked him with firm finesse as his tongue danced with hers. She was making him shiver and his swollen head pulse every time her cool fingers pumped and caressed it. He pressed her into the wall, bending a little so he could lift her. She wrapped her legs around him, but seconds later broke their kiss to breathe on him: "Condom!"

Rick groaned against her lips when she stopped stroking him, but he obediently let her down so he could retrieve condom number two from the nightstand. He ripped it open with his teeth, got it out, and tossed the foil, concentrating on getting it on quickly. He was aching for Michonne. She got down on her knees and helped him, her cool fingers making him tingle. Before she stood up again, she gave him a wicked smile and licked his balls, her tongue so hot and slick that he almost grabbed her hair. She sucked them gently before letting him go, rising gracefully to her feet again and backing up against the wall. She was gonna pay for that one, too.

Michonne couldn't wait. She was glued to the spot, watching him stare her down as he stepped closer and reached around for her ass so he could lift her up again. His eyes were a burning, cold blue. Like cerulean fire. God, she was so in love with him.

Rick teased her lips with his, pushing his warm, lean body into hers and lifting her against the wall. Michonne wrapped her legs around him, already dripping for him. She licked his bottom lip as he angled himself so he could enter her. And he thrust _powerfully_ , causing her to moan against his lips. "Hang on to me, baby..." he whispered as he parted her ass cheeks slightly and began to fuck her hard and slow.

Michonne did as he asked, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him tenderly as he pushed into her, thick and solid, filling her to the brim and hitting just the right spot every time. " _Mmmm_...faster!" she begged, biting his ear and running her fingers through his curls.

Rick shuddered, so aroused for her it hurt, but he held out, lifting his head to stare into her beautiful face. He kept thrusting, but he slowed down even more. She whimpered at him as he squeezed her glorious ass.

"Ask me again," he growled, his voice deeper than she'd ever heard it. Michonne clung to him, hungry for him to fuck the shit out of her until she came screaming. But she obliged him, at the same time turned on by what a beast he was.

"Fuck me, Rick." She breathed against his sexy, parted lips. " _Hard._ And _fast_ , baby. Please."

He leaned into her and claimed her mouth, one hand letting go of her ass to lift her leg into the crook of his muscular arm. Then he started to piston into her, forcefully and rapidly, hitting her as deeply as he could each time. Michonne moaned and her pussy clenched all around him as he fucked her into the wall. His balls slapped against her wet folds deliciously, over and over again. Rick bounced Michonne up and down his shaft, oblivious to the condom as for how tight and slick she was.

He needed her like water in the desert. Every. Fucking. Night.

He was going to cum soon, he could feel it creeping into his hips. He reached down to massage her clit, letting go of her other ass cheek. She bucked into him as he massaged her while he fucked her. Eventually she broke apart, mumbling breathlessly: " _Oh god, oh god, oh godddddd...yeeeessss!_ "

She was so fucking sexy when she came. And she _did_ cum, all over him, practically crushing him with her legs. Rick slammed her against the wall again, plundering her hard and fast, chasing his rapidly approaching release. Finally, he exploded. His thick cock pumped cum into the condom like a geyser as his hips locked and his thrusts slowed. Michonne clung to him, her nails digging into his back, making him cum even harder.

Rick kissed her fiercely as the last of his release caused his hips to jerk a few more times against his will. They kissed like their lives depended on it, their tongues dancing for control until he was spent. He let go of her to put his hands against the wall. They kissed still more as Michonne used his neck and shoulders for balance, lowering herself from his body until her feet touched the ground once again.

Rick did not stop kissing her as he pulled off his now soggy, saggy condom and tossed it into the trash to join its twin. Michonne laughed, amused at how utterly insatiable he was as he snatched her up into his arms with surprising deftness for an exhausted old man, kissing her as he carried her the few small steps to the bed. He sat her down on it, stealing another series of kisses before finally letting her lips go with a slow sigh.

"We're gonna need a hell of a lot more of those." He drawled as he climbed in bed and reached for her, helping her pull all of her hair up to rest against the pillows. They were both burning up, sweat glistening on their skin, making his curls hang in his eyes. He held her loosely, using his forearm to prop himself up on his side so he could gaze down at her. "Where'd they come from?"

He kissed her neck and collarbones lazily before moving down to pepper kisses along her irresistible breasts. Michonne smiled softly, closing her eyes at the lovely sensation of his damp lips touching and peeling away from her skin.

"Carl's room."

Rick stopped kissing her and looked up into her face, his eyebrows raised. Michonne refused to open her eyes, though her smile spread. " _Who's_ room?" his scratchy drawl demanded quietly.

"Relax, Rick. It's just in case. Nothing like that has happened yet, or will happen any time soon." She embellished, not really knowing for sure that she was right. Still, she was amused at his sudden annoyance with the thought his of son becoming a man in that way.

"This was your idea?" He shook her by the hips gently, getting her to chuckle and look at him finally.

Her handsome old man didn't look mad. His eyes were twinkling and he was smirking at her. "We made a deal."

"You two are worse than him and Shane." Rick said lightheartedly. He found it didn't hurt so much, thinking about Shane when he was around Michonne. She made him feel better in ways he didn't even realize sometimes.

Michonne frowned at the mention of Shane, someone she'd briefly heard about from Carl, but whom Rick had never really mentioned before. She decided not to ask just yet. "Carl's good, Rick. Stop worrying so much."

"Yeah…" he sighed, nodding. "We had a talk today. He sounded pretty sure of himself." The former sheriff shrugged and chuckled, remembering his conversation with Carl earlier that afternoon. "He said we should both 'just go with it'." Rick gazed down at her. "Not just him and Enid, either. He meant you and me."

Michonne laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. That kid was something else. He actually did put in a good word, just like he promised. "He kinda told me the same thing this morning."

"And I was worried about _Carol_ playin' matchmaker." Rick's smile disappeared as he thought about the real reason Carol was worrying the shit out of him.

Michonne frowned, stroking his arm to get him to focus on her again. "Carol is starting to worry me, too." She confessed. She had intended to tell him this as soon as he got home. Obviously, she'd been distracted until now. But _now_ was as good a time as any. "She wants me to be a 'bridge'. Make sure you don't go too far going after the Wolves. She claims she isn't asking me to spy, but...with her, you never know."

Rick rolled his eyes and grunted. " _She's_ one to fuckin' talk…"

"What do you mean?"

He gazed down at her, his expression serious; _now_ he looked kind of pissed. Michonne gave him all of her attention as he started talking, his thumb stroking her arm absentmindedly. "She lead me back to the street with all those unfinished brownstones today," he told her. His eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched at the memory of it; the shock and anger that filled him when he saw some crazed-looking, wiry dude with a 'W' carved into his forehead, chained up in that basement. "She's got a Wolf, chained up in one of the basements, right under our noses."

Michonne sat up slightly, moving her hair out of her face again as she glared at him in surprise. "You fuckin' with me?"

Rick scoffed. "Wish I was. No, she's had him since before the herd. He's got some kinda infection from a wound. He's about to die."

" _Why?_ " Michonne demanded.

Rick closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, feeling an unwanted headache coming on, thinking about his confrontation with Carol a few hours ago. "Morgan."

* * *

 _Earlier that afternoon..._

Rick stood before Carol in the basement, his anger and annoyance rising with each passing second. Behind him, that fucking psycho was passed out, pale and shivering on a pile of filthy canvas tarps left over from whenever there had been actual construction on this place.

Carol just stared up at Rick at first, looking defiant but slightly remorseful.

"Carol. Start talkin'." Rick tilted his head at her, shifting on his feet. He was not fuckin' around. " _Now_."

"T-that night…" she began in a sad, quiet voice that tested his patience. She sensed his hostility and straightened up, meeting his gaze head on. When she spoke next her voice was stronger. "That night, Morgan, he…" she shook her head, biting her lip, remembering it. "He had this fucking bug up his ass to save _that_ motherfucker." She jabbed a finger at their unconscious guest.

Rick bounced his holster leg impatiently, gazing at her with steel in his eyes, gesturing for her to please fucking continue.

So Carol continued. Her shoulders as heavy as stone, she told him about what happened to Morgan the night of the herd.

* * *

 _The night of the herd…_

" _LET HER GO!"_

Carol got to her feet, the room spinning, stumbling towards the sound of Morgan's bellowing voice. She heard walkers nearby. Too close. Alarm overwhelmed her as she rushed blindly, weakly, toward the door of the basement. He might have given her a real concussion, the bastard.

Denise was out there, but walkers were trying to get in. Carol launched herself over the last few steps to the door, slamming her body into it to shut it tight before the stumbling army of walkers she could hear made it inside. The impact made her body ring with pain and her brains jiggle around in her skull. She turned all the locks, her body on autopilot, before her legs gave out and she sank down onto her butt on the cold, dirty floor. She sat there limply for a moment, breathing hard, crushing her eyes shut to stop the spinning in her head.

"Run, Denise!" She heard Morgan shouting, causing her heart to pound with renewed adrenaline. Gun. She needed to find her gun.

Carol breathed in and out steadily, willing her mind to still. She picked herself up slowly, taking shaky steps towards the room where Morgan had kept the Wolf. Where Morgan had knocked her down and out to protect that murdering son of a bitch. She hated Morgan with fire in her gut as she searched sluggishly through the room for her gun. She finally found it, checked it for the clip, and walked more confidently back towards the door. Her head was searing with pain, but she felt more steady on her feet now as she listened.

There was a lot of commotion out there, and finally she heard Morgan grunting as he fought. Was he alone? Had Denise gotten to safety? Where was that fucking Wolf? Morgan needed her help. There were hundreds of walkers out there.

Carol wiped sweat from her brow with a shaky hand, raising her gun and leaning against the door, torn. She couldn't let him die. But maybe she should. He had already put them all in serious danger. He had _fought_ her, brutally, to protect one of the sickos that tried to hack this town to bloody pieces.

"Carol! Open the door!" The sound of his voice shocked her out of her thoughts. Then there was pounding, rattling the door, and her with it. "THEY'RE COMING!"

Carol braced herself and unlocked the deadbolt, but not the chain. She opened it and peered out through the space. Morgan had cleared a path, but was maybe thirty seconds away from being spotted and overrun by walkers again.

He had the Wolf slung across his shoulder. He was unconscious-a knot was developing on his head where Morgan had knocked him out. "Goddamn it, _not him!_ " Carol hissed, careful not to draw the attention of the marching herd above them.

"Yes. _Please_ , Carol, we don't have much time!" His gentle southern accent made her grimace. He was hell bent on saving this animal.

She shook her head, aiming her gun at them both through the crack in the door. "Dump him. Or you're not coming in here."

Morgan hoisted the taller man up, sweat sliding down his brow. He looked around in a panic, wary of swarming walkers, and turned back to her, his eyes shining. "You don't have to do this. This _isn't the way!_ " He pleaded.

Carol did not back down. She felt tears threatening to crash though her, but she swallowed them back down into the darkness and shook her head. She didn't want him to die, but she would sacrifice him. She knew she would. His eyes changed as he realized it, too. It was her turn to plead. " _Please_ , Morgan. He isn't worth it."

He looked like he pitied her. "Yes, he is. You all are."

The walkers smelled them. A few of them turned. Carol bounced on her feet, panic welling up inside her, her eyes darting from his to the line of walkers now stumbling their way down towards the basement, drawn by the smell of Morgan and the Wolf's blood.

"I'll help you, but you have to leave him!" She begged one more time, ready to shoot if she had to.

Morgan reached out, grasping the doorknob. At first she thought he was going to try to break in, but instead he pulled it towards him. Quick as a flash, he dropped the Wolf and pushed her back with his free hand, slamming the door shut again as she fell to the floor, startled.

"No!" she screamed, scrambling to her feet again. She could hear that Morgan was fighting, and a boulder dropped to the bottom of her gut when she realized that he was going to lose.

Carol stood riddled with fear. Not of the walkers, or of Morgan, or even of the Wolf. Fear of herself. She was prepared to let him die out there. He posed too many threats, in too many ways. His hold on Rick. His delusional dedication to saving all life. The way he got into her head. But she also wanted to save him, because he was good, and even though she hated what he believed, he was part of them.

Carol snapped out of her stooper and dashed to the door, unlocking it all the way and flinging it open.

She was too late. Morgan was overwhelmed by walkers. He was being chewed on even as she shot at any dead motherfucker that moved. He found her eyes, blood gushing from his neck where a walker was gnawing on him, and reached a trembling hand to the unconscious Wolf near the door. Miraculously, he was still alive, untouched as the walkers Morgan had been fighting swarmed him.

She knew what he wanted her to do. The life in his eyes disappeared and she acted without thinking. Shooting until the gun clicked, Carol reached down and dragged the Wolf by the leg into the basement, then she closed the door on Morgan's lifeless body being ripped apart by walkers.

She locked the door and kicked the Wolf in the back, sobbing uncontrollably as she slid down to her butt again. She cried like a baby as she listened to Rick's friend being devoured by walkers, clinging to her useless gun with shaking hands.

What the fuck was she gonna do, now?

* * *

Rick watched fresh tears slide down Carol's pale, freckled cheeks from her glistening eyes.

He was devastated about Morgan. He was angry at them all. At Morgan for being so stupid and so willing to sacrifice himself for some useless stranger. At Carol for being so twisted up inside over the things they all had to do that she would let his friend-the very first friend he had in this fucked up world-die in a swarm of walkers. Angry _as hell_ at the Wolf for daring to exist.

"I can't kill him…" she breathed, so faint he almost didn't hear her. She shook her head hard, wiping at her tears harshly before turning her red eyes up to his again. "I wanted to gut him like a fish for what he brought into these walls, but...I can't. Morgan died to save him. So, I need you to tell me what to do."

She offered him a watery smile, sniffing and crossing her arms. Her expression was open and anticipatory. Rick shifted on his feet again, his fingers flexing near his gun. Carol waited. Yeah, he was pissed. And he was also sick to his stomach about how Morgan died. But a bigger part of him wanted to hear her out. He swallowed, dropping his eyes to the floor. "What's he good for, Carol?"

"We should consider torturing him." Carol stepped closer to him when he chuckled sarcastically. " _Think about it_. He has information. You're trying to _end them_ , and we have one of them right here, Rick."

His fiery blue eyes shot back over to her, his jaw clenched and his mind buzzing. She was a piece of work. But she was right. Part of the reason he'd been waiting on going out into the wilderness to hunt for the remaining Wolves was because he had very little information to go on. He thought they'd killed every one of them that didn't get away. And the ones who did only escaped because of Morgan.

"I don't care about him," she jerked her chin at the slumbering psycho. "I care about _us_. I…" Carol swallowed down more dreadful emotion, and plowed on to convince him to see things her way. "I let Morgan die and I'm _sorry!_ I have to fix this!"

Rick immediately walked toward her, wrapping her up in his arms as she dissolved to silent sobs. He held her small, shaking body until it subsided. Finally, she stepped back, turning away from him slightly to wipe her eyes.

Rick's anger subsided too. The guilt she claimed to feel over Morgan's death...he found himself hoping that she was telling the truth. That was probably gonna be all the satisfaction he would get in retaliation for what she put his friend through. He owed her that much. And he couldn't honestly say what _he_ would've done in the face of Morgan's determination.

"I'm gonna let Morgan slide," he finally said coolly, sniffing and standing up straight, "and we can talk. Tell me what you had in mind."

Carol took a shuddering breath, laughing softly, shaking her head in relief. Rick stepped toward her, taking her shoulder in a firm, supportive grip.

" _Carol_...it's alright. Tell me."

"He's sick. I think it's an infection from that gash in his side. He needs medicine. We get him healthy, and we squeeze him for information. _Hard_. Brutally, if we have to."

He stared into her eyes, thinking. She knew him well. He would make the same decision, had this been his mess. But things had to be different, now. He had promised Michonne that he would try, and this had to be part of that promise. He didn't feel quite comfortable with that notion, but he had to accept it.

"I'm with you, but we have to bring it to the group first."

Carol looked down at his shirt for a beat, then nodded. "Alright. I'm surprised."

He let her shoulder go and stood back, observing the look of assessment in her eyes. He was doing it for Michonne, for their future, but he wasn't about to confess that to her. Still, she looked as if she already knew, whether he confirmed it verbally or not.

"You guys aren't talking about little old me, are you?"

They both froze at the sound of the Wolf's low, sing-song voice.

Rick made eye contact with Carol before taking his gun swiftly out of its holster and rounding on the sickly prisoner, aiming right between his eyes.

He sauntered over to the pile of soiled canvas where the pale younger man lay, staring up at Rick with vacant, black eyes. The wary ex cop knelt before the kid, pressing the barrel of the Colt Python into the flesh of that bone white, sweaty forehead of his.

He tilted his head at the Wolf, squinting with a deadly gleam in his eyes.

"You don't wanna give me a reason to blow your brains out."

The Wolf simply stared at him. He looked dangerously close to septic, his pallid skin coated with a light sheen of sweat, his irises blown wide open. "I'm dead already, mister."

Rick dropped his eyes to observe that he was practically curled into himself, shaking with fever. He was drenched in sweat, and his wound was oozing blood and pus from his side, soiling his dirty top. When Rick met his eyes again, the kid grinned, his face resembling a sinister clown. He was fucking crazy. Rick shook his head slowly, releasing the pressure of the barrel and lowering his gun. "Not yet, you're not. We got questions for you. You'll live until I say you don't."

Rick stood up abruptly and motioned for Carol to follow him out. They locked the Wolf in again and Rick lead her up the steps out onto the street. He turned on her, getting right in her face. "We tell no one else about this until we bring it to the group."

She nodded, all traces of her emotional outburst gone from her stoic face now. "So, we're gonna keep him alive?"

Rick stared at her, unable to stop imagining the horrendous scene that must've been Morgan's death. The man was a skilled fighter-he didn't go down easy. Which meant Carol must've been out of her wits for longer than a beat. Long enough to let him become so overrun by walkers that even his skills with his staff failed to protect him. The thought of it flooded Rick with icy-cold anger from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. "You don't think it's what Morgan would'a done? "

"You're running out of time, Rick." Carol ignored his flare up and squared her shoulders at him. "If they come back, we gotta be prepared, and every day you wait, they get further away and better at hiding." He clenched his jaw at her, but he relented. "We'll convince Maggie and the others, but we have to move fast."

"Tomorrow, first thing. Meanwhile, I'll get Rosita to stand watch tonight. He shouldn't be on his own. Sick or not, he's a threat."

Rick started walking before he finished his sentence, headed for the pantry again to grab water and get back to his crew before they got curious about what was taking him so long. Carol breathed another sigh of relief and followed him.

* * *

"Christ…" was all Michonne could say, her voice barely above a whisper after he'd told her the whole thing. It felt good to get it off his chest, and he knew with Michonne it would go no further than the two of them. Being able to trust her, no matter what happened, was one of the reasons he was so in love with her.

"Exactly," he replied, sighing wearily and settling down on his back now. Thinking about it again made his body remember his exhaustion from the day. "She knew exactly what to say, Michonne. She _knew_...if it had been me, I'd be tempted to torture 'im, too."

It was Michonne's turn to sit up on her side, now, one hand resting on his warm chest as it rose and fell slowly. He was confiding in her, like he always did, and like always, she didn't judge.

"At the time, I wanted to kill 'im…for what Morgan got that _he_ should've," he confessed, staring at the ceiling, rubbing his brow with his thumb. "He spoke to us, and I would've ended him right then, but Carol is right." Rick shrugged, chuckling again. "Somehow, she's _always_ right. Only this time, she brought me in there to give her permission. I told her I'm gonna bring it to the group. I wanna do things your way, first."

Her friend (and now lover) focused on Michonne's stoic face, needing to know how she felt about what he was telling her. He searched her eyes for any signs that she disapproved, his heart pounding beneath her elegant fingers.

"I told you, I'm with _you_ , Rick." She quietly reminded him, and he let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't realized he was holding in. "When we take it to Maggie and Spencer, I'll be with you then, too."

Rick nodded, reaching up to caress her face, bringing her down closer for a deep, slow kiss. He knew that she wanted to make these kinds of decisions as a family; as a collective of leaders for the community. He was going to do it that way because she was just as right as Carol was. To protect the ones you love, you gotta do things...bad things. Sometimes that meant killing, torturing, whatever it takes to make sure _you're_ the ones who survive. But sometimes that also meant compromise. He was going to plead his case with the group, because he made a promise to go along with Spencer, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne's way of things. And if they refused to go along with things the way he saw them? He hadn't figured that part out yet, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

Michonne sensed that there was something he wasn't saying as she pulled back from the kiss to look into his gorgeous blue eyes. She was on the point of asking him to spill it when his stomach rumbled suddenly-and loudly.

"I think I really am hungry, now." A sheepish grin spread slowly across his handsome face, and they both laughed quietly in the dark.

They kissed softly a few more times before Michonne hopped out of bed.

Setting Carol and her atom bomb to the back of his mind, Rick gazed at Michonne reverently as she glided across the room to retrieve her silky blue robe from the hook on the back of the door. She slipped it on in one graceful motion, tying it closed around her shapely waist. It made his heart flutter, realizing that merely two days ago, the possibility of being intimate with Michonne had been nothing more than a fantasy. One that he kept firmly in the back of his mind almost every day, but one he had no idea would actually come true. Just two days ago, she'd been annoyed with him to the point that she was barely speaking to him.

And now she knew exactly how he felt about her, and he knew exactly where they stood. It made him feel goddamned invincible, just looking at her.

Rick stood up and pulled on his jeans, leaving his underwear and everything else. He zipped up and grabbed the baby monitor. With a relaxed, confident gait, he sauntered over to her and pulled her in for another deep kiss. "I meant what I said…" he huffed when they came up for air.

She didn't have to ask what he meant. She nodded against his face. "Me, too." She captured his lips indulgently, licking and pulling at them a few more times for good measure.

His stomach growled again, breaking the spell. Michonne laughed at him and kissed him on the nose. Then she turned to open the door and free them so so she could feed her man. She lead him out by his free hand and he followed easily, watching her every step of the way down to the kitchen where his food was still sitting out, waiting to be eaten.

Michonne scooped it up and put it back in the pot on the stove so she could reheat the whole thing and have some seconds for herself. She pulled her dreads up into a messy pile atop her head, using a couple of loose locs to tie them securely in place. Rick had never seen her do that before and he stood back, watching, fascinated.

"I stole a couple of beers from the pantry today." She confessed over her shoulder as she worked. She gestured with her elbow to the fridge while she stirred their food.

Rick snapped out of his obsession with Michonne's dreadlocs, set the baby monitor down on the island where he could see it, and padded barefoot over to the fridge.

He opened it, squinting away from the glare of the light, and spotted them rattling side-by-side on the top shelf of the door. The sight of the two cold beers made his mouth water and he reached for them with one hand, grinning over at her as he shut the door again with the other. "Good thinkin'."

"I aim to please, officer." Michonne's sexy voice replied smoothly, making his dick twitch with the ghost of being buried in her tight, wet pussy all over again.

"Baby, don't tempt me..."

Michonne bit her lip as Rick was suddenly all over her, pressed against her side in nothing but his jeans. He held her loosely around her slender waist with one arm and used the other to gently press the cold beers against the back of her thigh. He exhaled slowly, his nose nuzzling her neck just under her earlobe.

"Eat your dinner and we can talk." She replied coolly, making a show of tasting the food and licking her lips, ignoring how tantalizing the cold beers felt on her thigh.

He grinned against her smooth skin. She knew exactly how to tease him. She took pleasure in it. _Fuck_ , he had hit the jackpot. Michonne never ceased to amaze him. Getting to know her as a fighter, a friend, and a mother figure for his children had made him fall in love with her, but getting to know her as a lover was making him feel like he would never, ever stop wanting her. He hoped she'd never stop wanting him either.

Michonne prepared two steaming bowls of rice and beans while Rick uncapped their beers and got them some utensils. She lead him over to the dining room table, and he followed with his eyes glued to her shapely ass as it swayed under her thin robe. The blue of the silky garment contrasted nicely with her silky brown skin.

They sat adjacent to each other at the table, clinking their beers and digging in.

Rick was ravenous, he realized, and he ate with zeal. Michonne took a few healthy bites and drank more beer, her eyes on him as she licked her lips free of perspiration from the bottle. "So what did Jessie want?"

Rick scoffed, rolling his eyes and reaching for his beer as he swallowed down a big helping of his food. He drank and wiped his mouth. "A job…" he drawled, sitting back in his seat. Michonne watched one of his chest muscles flex as he got comfortable.

"Interesting time of day to be asking."

Rick nodded, his eyes latched onto hers. "I don't think she's doing too well. That's partially my fault."

"Rick, you did everything you could to save him."

"I know."

Michonne frowned. "So what is it?"

It wasn't just Ron, and Rick had to come clean about it. He leaned forward, needing to touch her, stroking her legs and looking up into her beautiful face to read every millisecond of her expression. "I don't regret killin' that asshole Pete. But I made a mistake with Jessie."

Michonne could easily guess what that mistake was. She wasn't stupid and she certainly wasn't blind. At the time she'd been...unconcerned. She didn't quite know all the ins and outs of exactly what happened but she found that at the end of the day, she didn't need to. Truth be told, Rick's violent behavior and propensity to shut out the people who had become their community worried her more than Jessie Anderson's obvious attraction to him. And Michonne figured he might 'make a mistake' as he was now putting it. At the time, they all had bigger fish to fry, as her mama would always say. And they still did.

Rick was gazing at her, his confession written all over his face even though he didn't speak further. Michonne sighed and offered him a soft smile, caressing his scratchy chin with her thumb.

"She's been through a lot. She just wasn't prepared for it. She needs someone to give her some guidance, that's all. So did I, so did Andrea. So did you, at some point." Rick thought of Herschel as Michonne shrugged. "Be a friend. But be direct."

He nodded, leaning in to kiss her shin gently. Her patience and loyalty were two of the traits that made her perfect. "I think she should work in the infirmary. I dunno, maybe it'll help."

Michonne nodded down at him as he rested his chin against her leg, getting down onto his knees and making himself comfortable there. He kissed her legs a few more times when she ran her fingers lightly through his hair. "Denise could." They both exchanged glances and laughed quietly. "Well-in her _Denise_ kind of way. She cares, and she's smart."

"So you think it's a good call?" He asked, his breath feeling pleasant against her skin. He had her crossed legs cradled against his chest, his chin resting on her knee, his eyes glinting in the dimmed overhead light.

"I think Jessie needs someone other than the town protector to help her through her grief, yes." She leaned forward and kissed his the top of his head. "Thank you for telling me."

"Thank _you_ for…" he sighed, his eyes closed, cradling her legs to him, at a loss for words, "bein' you."

Michonne bumped him in the stomach with her slender foot and he laughed at himself. She made him do and say things he never thought he would again. He remembered being in love as a kid, a teenager, and a young man when he met Lori. None of those times could even come close to this. Perhaps the closest was how much he loved Carl and Judith. Being free to express it was going to his head. It wasn't like him to be so honest and open. But he really was going to try to be different with Michonne. She deserved it; she was worth it. What they could _achieve_ together, _build_ together, that was all worth a change, too.

Rick sat there, lost in his thoughts, watching her as she leaned back and took another swallow of her beer. He watched it travel down her long, elegant throat and her chest cave in slightly with a satisfied exhalation. "Damn, this is good."

Watching her made him thirsty and he leaned back, reaching a long arm over to grab his own beer from the table and taking a swig himself, his sparkling eyes still glued to her. The house was warm, but the ceiling fan was on, swirling lazily above them. They could hear nothing but the crickets outside and the faint sounds of Judith's soft snoring wafting into the dining room every now and then from the monitor in the kitchen.

"So how did she take it?" Michonne finally asked after they'd shared a few minutes of contented silence. She was almost finished with her beer and his was gone. She wished they had more, but the one had been enough to keep her in a relaxed, lighthearted mood.

Rick now had her foot propped against his chest, and he was rubbing it slowly. He sighed. "Well, she isn't too happy about it. I told her we could hear her out and take a vote on it in the mornin'."

Feeling empathy for his situation, his lover and confidant handed him her bottle so they could share the last couple of swigs of rapidly warming beer. He let go of her foot with one hand to accept it, took a swig, and handed it back. Then he made her switch feet so he could continue massaging her.

Michonne let herself enjoy the feel of his strong hands gently kneading her foot as she put the sounds of the conversation she'd heard earlier together with what he had just told her. She could guess that Jessie had been less than thrilled with Rick's appointment. But like Michonne had learned soon after meeting him, Rick did everything for a reason. She could see the thoughtfulness in his assignment.

"So we'll vote on it." She took the bottle back and finished off the beer. "But for the record, I think you're right."

Rick nodded, feeling more confident in his decision thanks to her unwavering support. Still, he couldn't help sensing that Jessie's depression and unrest were going to be two things he might have to deal with anyway, despite his plan to hand her off to Denise. "Why do I feel like I'm waitin' for the other shoe to drop?"

Michonne chuckled, nudging his shoulder with her foot. "One shoe at a time, Grimes. She'll be fine."

Rick didn't care about Jessie anymore as he witnessed Michonne's slow, unbothered smile. He leaned down and kissed her foot, holding it against his beating heart with both hands wrapped securely around it. "You forgive me?" He asked, still kissing her skin, wanting to know where they stood in earnest, now.

"Just don't make any more mistakes."

He looked up at her, squeezing her foot, his eyes glinting. "I'm not fuckin' around, Michonne."

"Good. Neither am I."

He couldn't help returning her slow smile. In the nighttime quiet, something warm and peaceful spread through them both as he held her foot against his bare chest, rubbing her toes with his thumb. Something like love. They didn't say it, but they felt it.

Jessie Anderson was no longer on either of their minds.


	6. love, fear, and beer: part ii

_he can't rescue you_

 _pull the demons from your head_

 _lure you from your sleepy bed_

 _he can't carry you_

 _past the door of every danger_

 _every foe and every stranger_

 _he can't save you_

 _from the plain and simple truth_

 _the waning winters of your youth_

 _your tears will always leave their mark_

 _from fears that stay inside the dark_

 _he can't fix you_

-Lucinda Williams, "Rescue"

* * *

 _Earlier that afternoon…_

Sam had finally fallen asleep.

He'd been up since five that morning, moving around in his room, talking to himself (shit, some of the things he'd said...in some other voice, like he was possessed), throwing things…

Jessie had tried everything to get him to calm down, talk to her like they used to-anything but his increasingly alarming behavior. But he just yelled at her, or cried like a baby, or stared off into space like he couldn't hear her. She had hoped so much that he was coming around when he let her take him to the party last night. When he actually engaged for hours.

But the party had turned out to be yet another source of stress. She'd been too upset and tired to sit with him until he fell asleep like she usually did. So, of course, Sam had a nightmare, and things went rapidly downhill from there.

When she found him sound asleep, she had slipped away, outside into the fresh air.

The relief she felt at being outside, away from her cold, dark trap of a house, was almost enough to make her cry. But she had cried plenty since she smelled the sex clinging to the air in Spencer's bedroom. She didn't have a drop left.

Forcing thoughts of Rick and Michonne fucking in that room out of her mind, Jessie walked aimlessly through the neighborhood. She barely acknowledged the people she passed as she went down the hill and into 'town'. Yesterday, she'd been fine. Hopeful. In a pretty good mood, even. Today she was just numb. A feeling she was familiar with, even if she'd been starting to believe it was gone for good.

She needed to feed it.

Jessie decided to head for the pantry, to see if she could find any remaining booze left over from the supply they'd scavenged for the party. She would try to distract Olivia and slip out with it.

Looking forward to spending the rest of her afternoon numbing her pain, Jessie bypassed the church and cemetery, turned at the corner near the infirmary, and headed for the pantry.

Olivia greeted her pleasantly, and Jessie made up something about needing supplies for dinner, before slipping back to the garage where most of the food was kept. She headed straight for the big freezers in the back, where she knew the beer would probably be, if there was any left.

As she weaved through the rapidly emptying shelves, she happened to notice that there was just one little tin of sardines left. She stopped dead in her tracks. They had found sardines that hadn't expired yet, and Ron had been eating them like candy before…

" _Mom! PLEASE! Shoot me!"_

Jessie felt a knife to the heart as the memory crashed into her without warning. The memory of how her beautiful teenage boy died in that herd.

* * *

 _The night of the herd…_

Jessie watched in horror as Sam tore off out of her grip, disappearing through a cluster of bushes and out of sight. He'd become so frightened and unresponsive, it was all she could do to snap him back to reality without drawing any of those disgusting monsters' attention.

And then he snatched his hand away, her poor scared little boy, and took off running.

She turned to Rick, panic filling her from head to toe. He gaped at her, torn. She saw it in his crystal blue eyes, in his face, in his rigid stance. He was _torn_ about going after Sam.

"Sam!" It was Ron who went after him. _Ron_ who bravely snatched one of Carl's guns from its holster and charged into a throng of walkers.

Their line broke apart. Jessie felt as though her heart was going to explode as she went after her sons, her legs feeling like they were filled with lead. She managed to narrowly escape being caught by the grasping, dead hands scrambling for her as she ran blindly into the field where Sam and Ron had gone.

She heard Rick curse and the song of Michonne's sword slicing through flesh behind her as she ran through a labyrinth of the dead.

Finally she saw them. Ron had Sam against a tree, and he was shooting at any walkers that got near them. But he was going to run out of bullets soon. Jessie stopped, pulled out her gun, and aimed it with shaking hands. Suddenly, Rick and Michonne were cutting down walkers all around her. Carl joined them, and Jessie saw her chance.

She aimed and shot, taking down a walker about to grab at her oldest son. She shot again. Missed. Again. Michonne had almost made it to her boys. But Carl got double-teamed, and Jessie watched Michonne slice the heads off the walkers threatening him.

Her momentary distraction cost her. "Mom!"

It was Sam's scream, but it was Ron who was in trouble. He had run out of bullets, and he was being taken down. Sam stood cowering against the tree while Ron fought off three walkers, but they were too much for him.

Jessie cried out; a guttural, feral sound erupted from her as she raised her gun and shot at anything that moved around her boys. But she wasn't a good shot yet, and she missed more than she landed, and Ron was taken down without mercy. Her stomach felt like it had ruptured in two when she heard his screams. "MOM! _PLEASE!_ SHOOT MEEE! "

Rick was taking down walkers to keep them from her, Carl and Michonne had saved Sam and were shooting and cutting their way back towards her-and Ron was being torn apart.

"Pleeeeease…" he gurgled, blood oozing from his mouth as a walker chewed on his shoulder.

She raised her gun with shaking hands, tears obscuring her vision, and tried to make a clean shot to her son's skull.

She missed.

She fired again.

The pistol clicked. Empty. She was out of bullets.

Rick's eyes met hers as he took down a walker. She was sobbing. He was shaking with adrenaline. Without a word, he turned, raised his Python, and fired. The bullet landed between Ron's eyes, just as he was felled by at least six walkers. He disappeared in a hailstorm of blood, sinew, and dead things scrambling to devour him.

And the line was reformed. And they rushed to the safety of the infirmary, their plan to find cars demolished. Sam clung to her, shaking and vacant. Jessie saw nothing but that bullet puncturing Ron's skull.

* * *

 _Closer to the present…_

Glenn stood by in the kitchen, listening to Carl say goodnight to Enid.

He had noticed the two of them getting closer and closer over the weeks. He wasn't sure what Rick thought about it, but it did nothing but remind Glenn of how he felt when he first met Maggie. Sure, Carl and Enid were thirteen years younger, but the _feeling_ was still the same. This world didn't afford any of them many good things-happy things-things that healed the heart rather than slashed at it.

Love was something none of them should take for granted. He was lucky to realize that with Maggie. If Rick and Michonne were headed in the direction they all suspected, they were lucky to be able to realize that with each other. Glenn didn't think there was any difference for Rick's son and the quiet girl he'd dragged back to this place kicking and screaming during the herd (and his worst days of this life).

Glenn was happy for Enid. Carl meant a connection to this place that she hadn't had before. Carl meant she would try, she would engage. She would come to think of this place as her home, and these people as her family. At least, he hoped. He planned to plant the seed, anyway.

"We can start tomorrow, promise." Carl was saying as Glenn took two leftover beers from the fridge and leaned against the kitchen island.

"Okay."

He heard kissing sounds, and lowered his gaze to his shoes even though they couldn't see him. Kids.

"Goodnight…"

More kissing. "Night, emo."

"Yeah, we'll see about that when I'm putting you through target practice."

"Whatever. See you tomorrow."

Finally, he heard Enid taking the stairs up to her room, and then Carl emerged, walking past the kitchen. "Hey. Casanova. Stick around for a sec."

Carl looked up, his cheeks red, and was glad to see that Glenn was still awake. Though not so glad at the realization that Glenn had heard him and Enid just now. He had intended to visit with his friend, talk to him a bit and express how glad he was that he was back. Alive. But he'd become distracted by Enid. She was so beautiful and she zeroed in on him whenever they were together. She had a pull on him that he couldn't resist. Only his dad's curfew snapped him out of his distraction.

Carl blushed even harder, stepping into the kitchen with his hair falling into his eyes to hide his uncharacteristically boyish embarrassment.

Glenn tried to suppress his smirk as he held out a beer to Carl. "I won't tell if you don't."

Carl's attitude shifted from embarrassment to intrigue as he eyed the cold beer Glenn was offering him. "For real?"

Glenn shrugged. "Just this once. Don't tell your dad."

"Deal."

The stoic teenager took the beer and grinned at his older friend, feeling like a different person all of a sudden. Maybe a little bit more like an actual man instead of like a kid with a man's responsibilities.

"Come on, let's take these outside."

Glenn lead Carl through the house and out to the back patio, where they walked down to the seats scattered about and dragged two closer to each other. Glenn straddled his backwards as Carl leaned back against his and let his sheriff's hat fall forward into his eyes. They raised their bottles and drank. Carl swallowed his first swig of ice cold beer and instantly liked it. It was a hell of a lot better than that bitter red wine he'd had once.

"So you and Enid…" Glenn said after a few moments of silence and swigs of beer.

Carl shrugged, already feeling the prickly sensation of his first alcohol buzz spreading through him. "Yeah. You gonna tell me we're too young, too?"

The hardened romantic raised an eyebrow, the neck of his bottle perched against his lips. "I'd love to know who told you that."

Carl sighed, realizing that he'd responded too defensively. "No one did, really. My dad _implied_ it." He chuckled, thinking of how awkward his dad was, talking about this kinda stuff. Whenever they had hard talks, both in this world and the one before everything died, his father found them more difficult than Carl did. Some things never changed.

"Well, what do _you_ think, man?"

Carl looked over at Glenn, surprised and appreciative that he was being allowed to stand by his own convictions so far. Michonne was right. His fears about what other people thought didn't matter.

"I think...it's gonna be alright. For now. I'm in love. And nothin's gonna stop me from protecting her." He sat up straighter in his patio chair, taking another swallow of his beer as a punctuation to his statement. "She's part of my responsibilities, now. She feels like family."

Glenn nodded, knowing that he'd felt exactly the same way about Maggie. All those days on Hershel's farm, being with her became increasingly important to him. Protecting her, doing right by her, proving to her how much she meant to him-those things were worth fighting for. He was glad Carl was starting to see that with Enid, their young age be damned.

He believed in Enid. He wouldn't feel this way about just anyone. And he suspected, neither would Carl. The kid was like his dad in that way.

"When I was out there...stuck under a dumpster…" Glenn began quietly, his mouth still hidden behind his bottle. Carl's bright blue eyes shot up to his and he listened intently. "All I could think about was Maggie."

He tried not to relive it, instead to just make his point and move on.

"Getting back to her...and our baby…" His eyes rose to meet Carl's and he lowered the bottle, holding it between his hands across the back of the chair. "That was the only thing that kept me alive. They keep me _fighting_. Every day. My wife and my child. And that's not something you pass up. Not in _this_ world."

Carl nodded slowly, understanding a lot more about them all-Glenn and his father in particular. _Love_ was the reason they survived, when you broke it all down to it's bare bones.

Love drove them. Loyalty bonded them. Fear protected them.

"How do I know what to do…?" He couldn't stop himself from asking. "How do I know I'm doing the right thing? For Enid...for all of us?"

Glenn shook his head, taking a long swig of his beer, almost finishing it. "Rick told me once that he was always afraid he was constantly failing us...failing _you_. But we're here."

Carl frowned, remembering the fall of the prison, his mother's traumatizing death, getting shot...his dad had looked devastated and haunted all those times. Glenn's words gave Carl a window into the thoughts behind the expressions of defeat he'd glimpsed back then.

Glen continued: "Bottom line is...you just do what you gotta do, man."

"'Just survive somehow…'" Carl quoted, downing his beer, feeling the sweeping rush of intoxication licking at his heels.

"Pretty much, dude." Glenn finished his beer too.

They sat in silence for a little while, staring up at the stars, listening to the crickets in the dark. Both feeling goddamned grateful to have something to survive for.

* * *

 _Earlier that afternoon…_

The sound of Rick's voice snapped Jessie out of her memories.

She woke as if doused in ice cold water, slouching against the shelf with the lonely can of sardines.

"It's gonna get bloody, Rick." Carol's voice was there, too, responding to something he'd said. They were in the armory closet. She didn't know where Olivia was, but she didn't want to stay to find out.

Jessie wiped the tears from her pale cheeks and got to her feet again. She headed for the freezer, sliding it open as quietly as she could when she looked down and spotted what she'd come for. There were two six-packs of beer left. She reached for one, pulling it out as the voices continued.

"You prepared for that?" Carol was whispering.

There was a heavy pause as Jessie slid the freezer door shut again. She stood up straight, clutching the six-pack to her stomach, now unable to stop herself from listening.

"Are _they_ prepared for that?" Rick hissed, finally. "We don't touch him til we've got a _plan_. All of us."

"He acts like a leader. Morgan's run into him before. He could tell us where they are. We could use that to convince them."

"Yeah." Rick scoffed. "I'm not disagreein' with you. I wanna wipe every Wolf off this fuckin' planet."

"This doesn't make up for Morgan, though." Carol said quietly, remorsefully. "Does it?"

Another heavy pause. Jessie frowned, straining to hear, needing to run. Olivia could come back from wherever she'd gone to any minute. She might alert them to her presence. She was such a nitwit. Timid and too nice for her own good. Thank god for Daryl and Glenn and that truck full of gasoline and weapons that saved all their asses, or in Jessie's opinion, Olivia would be long gone. She snapped herself out of her malicious thoughts as the tense, secret conversation continued.

"You saved our lives, brought me my child back." Rick finally uttered. She heard his boots sliding across the floor as he shifted on his feet. "We come out of this thing alright, Carol...we call it what it is. What's done is done. But there's a law of averages, and things are gonna catch up."

"What about Michonne…?" At the sound of the name, Jessie's heart skipped a beat. It wasn't alarm, or concern, the widowed young mother knew, that caused her temples to flush and her heartbeat to flutter at the sound of that woman's name. It was jealousy. And envy. And pain. "She with you on this? She believes in this place. In what Maggie and Spencer are trying to do."

When Rick spoke next, the conviction and fierceness in his voice intensified the pain and jealousy coursing through her. "Yeah, but Michonne _knows_ what we _have_ to do. She doesn't shy from it. _She's with me._ "

"Okay. So we make him talk, then."

"He'll talk."

Jessie reeled. They were talking about a Wolf, one of those psychos that attacked them before all those walkers breached the walls. They had one captive-they must have. They were talking about something sinister...like torture. Or worse.

"Oh, hi guys." She jumped when Olivia's voice interrupted the tense atmosphere. "Sorry, had to tinkle. Did you guys need anything in particular?"

"Just gettin' some water for the crew," Rick answered cordially. That meant he'd be coming her way.

Jessie took this as her opportunity to get out.

Her mind buzzing with what she'd overheard, she made a beeline for the garage door switch attached to the wall a few paces to her left. She punched it and the door rattled open. The exhausted blonde waited impatiently for it to reach a height that would allow her duck under. When it finally did, she slipped away with the beer, not daring to look back.

* * *

 _Later that evening..._

Jessie had managed to stay buzzed for the rest of the evening.

She started when Sam finally ate after his nap. Then he set to listening to his music and reading his comics, and she knew he'd be holed up in his room doing just that until he fell asleep again.

She went out onto her porch and watched the sun go down, smoking and drinking. Thinking of what she'd overheard in the pantry.

This was information that meant something. Maybe a way out. A way out of this horrible existence, hovering on the edge of insanity, watching her son beat her to the punch. If she could put herself to use...if she could focus on something other than fighting off her grief…

As if on cue, Jessie saw Carol walking past her house in the dusk, carrying a big green rucksack stuffed with shit.

"Carol?" She called out before she could think about it, causing Carol to pause and squint up at her. "Need any help?"

She gestured with her beer to the rucksack slung across Carol's back. Carol blinked at her for a few beats, her face a mask of cool assessment. "No, but I could use a smoke. Got any more of those?"

Jessie nodded, putting her beer between her legs on the porch swing to dig into her back pocket for her Marlboro Lights. The petite, gray-haired fighter dragged the giant rucksack to the porch stoop and left it there, wiping her brow as she climbed the short row of stairs and accepted the crumpled hard pack.

"Thanks." She said, her blue-silver eyes glinting in the dimness as she continued her cool scrutiny of Jessie Anderson. Jessie looked exhausted, and more than a little haunted. She also looked tipsy. "That the last of the party booze?"

Carol fished her own lighter from her front pocket and lit her cigarette as Jessie nodded and swallowed a big helping of beer. "I think Olivia expects poachers." She shrugged "When we got it, might as well drink it, right?"

Jessie offered her a swig and Carol accepted. She didn't say that what _she_ could use was a large shot of whiskey. Still, the cold, foamy liquid slid down her throat, cooling her chest, causing her to look down at the bottle as she enjoyed a long swallow. "Damned right…" she agreed, handing it back to her neighbor and taking another drag of her cigarette.

The older woman glanced up at the house before squinting back down at the young mother. "How's Sam?"

Jessie offered her a tight smile, rubbing her thigh as she crossed her legs on the porch swing. "Sam's…Sam." She let out a cheerless chuckle. Then she quickly moved on, gesturing with her chin to the rucksack. "So what's with all the stuff?"

Carol looked over across the porch, towards the direction of the house she'd shared with her group since they first arrived in Alexandria. Slowly but surely, the more comfortable everyone got here, the more of them moved on to other homes. It was her turn, now. She hoped Daryl wouldn't be annoyed with her for not talking to him about it first. But really, their camp out session on the porch had made up her mind.

"I'm movin' out." She answered, inhaling smoke and exhaling it through her nostrils. "Rick and Michonne need privacy with the kids. And so do I, for that matter."

When she looked down at Jessie again, the woman's face had gone porcelain white, and her eyes were glistening. Carol frowned, recognizing that look. "So, that's official, huh?" Jessie said quietly, planting her gaze on her fingernails. "Rick and Michonne?"

"You care?" Carol asked unabashedly, her frown still firmly set in place. Jessie's head popped up from her nails. Her cheeks were flushed, now. The older, wiser, tougher woman didn't stop to hear the answer. She already knew what it was. "They're no different than they were when we first got here. Close. That won't change. What's that got to do with you?"

A single tear escaped Jessie's wet eyes, but she held Carol's gaze firmly. "He murdered my husband and made me think he was doing it because he cared about me. Because he...wanted..." she couldn't finish.

Carol shook her head at Jessie in wonder. "Is that really what you believe?"

Stung, Jessie flinched, but just as suddenly she realized that she shouldn't be surprised. She lowered her gaze to her dirty canvas shoes (Mom Shoes, Pete used to call them when he was tipsy) and crushed her cigarette out in the ash tray. "Do _you_ really believe Spencer's gonna let you and Rick torture a guy? You think these people will consent to that, once they find out?"

Carol's eyes widened as Jessie's calm face rose to hers again. The younger woman's large, sad blue eyes were defiant. "What the hell did you say…?"

"You heard me. You can't keep that Wolf a secret for long, Carol." And, with a hefty dose of nerve, she whispered in the next breath: "I could help. Keep the secret, I mean. Whatever you need. I'll be discreet."

Cold clarity seized Carol at once. She had heard the garage door open when Olivia had gone to fetch the waters for Rick, but she'd been too distracted trying to gauge whether the pantry woman had overheard them. She looked Jessie over and could finally peg the energy wafting off the diminished young mother. She was going to have to be harsh, but it was for her own good.

"No. You can't." The coldness in the hardened woman's voice slashed away any scrap of pretense this farce of a conversation had. Jessie could see the real Carol, now. Where before she'd only seen glimpses past that home cooked facade, in this moment she saw the forty-something-year-old for _exactly_ who she was. Someone not to be fucked with. "That's none of your concern right now. Neither is Rick. Or Michonne." She stood up straight from her leaning position against the porch railing and lifted her cigarette in Jessie's direction. "You comfortable being weak? Being stupid? You think Rick would hesitate to chop off the hand that clings to him if it meant saving Carl or Judith or the woman you're so idiotically jealous of?"

Her voice was soft as a whisper but sharp as a fucking blade. Each word sliced into Jessie without mercy, and fresh tears sprouted in her blue eyes as Carol continued her onslaught. Hatred began to bubble up in Jessie's belly, but she couldn't discern for whom. Maybe Carol, maybe Rick, maybe herself-maybe all of the above.

"You don't need to be Rambo, Jessie." Carol jabbed her cigarette at the house, spilling ash. " _Sam_ is your priority. Remember him? He's about to fall off a cliff and he's gonna take you right along with him if you don't snap the fuck out of it. You're in pain-so _use_ it." She frowned incredulously at the garbled blonde sitting stiffly on the porch swing, silent tears streaming down her pale cheeks in the rapidly darkening twilight. "Rick can't help you, now. He can't save you. And he isn't obligated to. Quit wasting everyone's time and save _yourself_. Save your little boy, before it's too late for both of you. That's how you can be of some help."

Carol crossed her arms, squinting indifferently at Jessie through the haze of cigarette smoke as she took the last few drags.

Jessie sat there processing Carol's words for a few beats, then wiped her face and offered a tiny, sad smile. "Well...thanks for the advice." Her smile disappeared and her voice hardened, anger roiling through her as she glared at the wicked witch of Alexandria. "Now get the fuck off my porch."

The enigmatic older woman put her cigarette out in Jessie's ash tray and turned to jog down the porch steps without another word. She grabbed her rucksack full of ninety percent of her belongings and hoisted it over her shoulder again, walking back down to the street and heading for her new home.

As she walked, Jessie staring after her, she wondered if her young, scorned neighbor would turn out to be a problem.

* * *

 _Late that night..._

The house was silent and dark when Carl made it back.

He'd replayed and analyzed his conversation with Glenn over and over in his head as he walked through the silent, peaceful neighborhood. He felt closer to Glenn and Maggie than ever these days, especially now that they'd all had a couple of months to breathe. Especially knowing that they both supported his love for Enid.

As he stepped inside the foyer, he hoped his dad had been too tired to care that he wasn't back before he went to bed. The kid smirked in the dark as he carefully closed and locked the front door. Or too happy from being with Michonne alone in the house all night. Carl didn't want to think about the details, but he thought his dad and Michonne were ones to talk about caution and protection with the way they carried on.

Carl took off his boots to avoid making too much noise, leaving them in a pile next to the door and tip-toeing his way into the house at large.

He peered into the kitchen and dining room beyond, noticing two bowl and two empty beer bottles sitting on the table. They must have just gone to bed recently. Which meant they'd only just had dinner. Which meant they had wasted no time after he and Enid left. Carl grinned, despite himself, suddenly feeling extremely happy for his dad and Michonne.

He moved on to the stairs, still smiling.

Whatever actually happened at Glenn and Maggie's party, it had acted like some kind of invisible switch, turning on sides to them that Carl had never seen before. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his father so enamored-certainly it hadn't been during his marriage to the boy's mother, Lori. Especially not those last few years. The fighting, his mom's coldness, and his dad's weariness had taken its toll.

He made it to the door of his new room, already looking forward to crashing face first into his bed (that one beer and all that talking had exhausted him). "Carl? Hey."

His dad's low, raspy voice sounded out behind him, and Carl turned to see Rick emerging from Judith's room in nothing but his jeans. His hair was all mussed up, thick brown curls threatening to fall into his eyes, which were gleaming serenely.

"Did I wake Judith?" Carl frowned, concerned as he leaned against his door frame.

His father shook his head and scratched his chin, sauntering forward across the hall. "Nah, I was just checkin' on her. She's out for the count. How was your visit with the new parents?"

"Fine. Good." His young son shrugged, looking somewhat lethargic, but pleased with himself. Rick thought he detected the smell of beer on his breath as he spoke. It only made him smile.

"Smells like there was some serious bonding goin' on…"

"Yeah." Carl's cheeks burned in the dark. "Sorry. That was supposed to be a secret."

"Uh huh. I'll deal with Glenn, later. Not too harshly." Rick quickly assured his boy, reaching a hand up to lean against the opposite side of the door frame. "You only get to give your son his first beer once."

"Oh...damn." Carl hadn't thought about it that way. "Well-if you makes you feel better, I'm not even drunk. It was just one. And Glenn's more of a big brother, anyway. Aren't those supposed to get you in trouble?"

Rick chuckled, relenting. "Fair enough." He reached over and removed Carl's hat, tussling his hair when the boy caught it against his chest and rolled his eyes.

"How was _your_ night? With Michonne?" The shrewd fifteen-year-old retaliated, his expression remarkably mature. His father was tempted to be embarrassed, but had a change of heart, literally as well as figuratively it would seem.

"Let's just say...we're goin' with it. Just like you said."

It made Carl extremely relieved to hear that. And happy. He nodded, his hair falling into his eyes. "That's great, Dad."

"And I was thinkin'..." Rick sighed and rubbed his chin, bashfully moving on from his son's praise. "About you and Enid? You both want this, right? To be together?"

"Yes, we do." Carl raised his eyebrows hopefully.

"Just do right by her, son. If you're serious, be serious. That was _your_ advice, remember?"

"I know. I _am_ serious."

The eldest Grimes shook his head in wonder, conceding once again to his teenager's unflinching determination. "Then that's all I'll ask of you, son."

Neither Grimes had any intention of mentioning the condoms hidden in Carl's sock drawer. That was a conversation that could wait. Indefinitely if either of them had any say in it. "Dad?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't be afraid to talk to Michonne." Rick gazed at his son, who was standing against the door, taller than ever, looking dead serious and just as determined about this as he was about Enid. "She listens; she doesn't judge. And…" Carl sighed, hating to butt in but knowing that he had to be honest if he was going get what he wanted: a complete, whole, healed family. "She probably feels the same way you do. You just gotta be honest with her."

His father smirked and nodded, rustling his thick hair again. "Don't worry, son. I got this."

They said goodnight and hugged tightly. Then Carl shuffled into his room to crash. Rick watched his smart, kind, brave young man fall into bed and closed the door, now focused on returning to his own slumber in Michonne's arms.

* * *

"Psst…! Hey."

Sam's eyes shot open at the sound of the chillingly familiar, yet very faint voice. It was coming from the far corner of his room. The darkest corner. His heart began to pound in his chest and cold fear began to creep into every pore of his skin as he froze in terror. _Not again, not again, not again…!_ He could only think frantically to himself. He did not want to turn around and look into that corner.

"Hey. Lil' bro."

 _No,_ Sam thought, clinging to his blanket, trembling despite his gargantuan desire to remain as still as stone. Maybe if he didn't move, Ron's ghost would go away. He didn't think he believed in ghosts. But he believed in monsters. But the monsters didn't talk. They ate you. They ate Ron while he was still alive and screaming, just like Carol said they would. So how could Ron be here, torturing him? He _had_ to be a ghost. Or a really realistic dream. Something touched Sam's shoulder and he gasped, clamping his hand over his mouth, shaking like a leaf.

"Wanna see a trick?" The voice came from the corner again. An then again, a little louder and more insistent, though still as hollow as a whisper: "I'm not gonna go away until you see my trick."

Sam yearned for his mom with all his heart as he lay shaking in his bed. Would she come if he called for her? Had she taken those sleeping pills tonight? She seemed kinda drunk when she kissed him goodnight earlier. She wasn't there anymore. She only pretended to be. She was always so sad, she couldn't even talk about Ron. She wouldn't understand about his ghost. She wouldn't come. Sam was alone.

"That's right, lil bro…" the voice whispered. "Mom's dead inside. It's just you and me, now. I got you. Now turn around so I can show you something cool."

Fighting not to cry, Sam turned around slowly, his eyes searching the room. Finally they landed on the corner, which was pitch black. But then Ron emerged from the darkness as if he was made from it, smiling softly with those sad, vacant eyes of his.

"Ready?" He asked, not seeming so bad now that Sam could see him. Sam nodded weakly, unsure of what else to do. "We're all dead, Sam." Ron continued to smile-until his head suddenly exploded in a fierce blast of blood and sinew.

Sam woke up screaming bloody murder.

* * *

Jessie lay curled up in her bed, in the dark, sobbing.

She was drunk and disgusted with herself and so exhausted that her eyes hurt, but she couldn't sleep. She just lay there, holding herself, crying. The most frustrating thing was that she couldn't get Carol's words out of her head. Stupid. Weak. _Stupid. Weak._ _Get your shit together. Rick can't save you. Save_ _ **yourself**_ _._

Jessie laughed bitterly through her tears, remembering the scene she'd witnessed before she came running back into the house. No, Rick wasn't even remotely interested in saving her. Not when he had Michonne's glorious ass to occupy himself with.

But the bald, scalding truth was that Rick wasn't her problem anymore. Carol was right about that, the conniving bitch.

There was something weighing on her, something heavy and black and full of unimaginable pain. Something she couldn't bear to acknowledge. It was the thing she couldn't face, the thing that kept her grasping for distractions. Kept her stupid and weak. The thing that no amount of beer and cigarettes could kill. She felt it crushing her willpower slowly, but surely. Still, she fought off the avalanche it threatened to set loose inside her.

" _MOOOOOOM!_ "

The sound of her twelve-year-old's horrified screams pierced her heart, and Jessie jumped up from the bed, rushing blindly into the hallway towards his room.

"Mommy! Mom! Mom! _Mooooom!_ " Sam was screaming over and over again, sobs ripping out of him between each howl.

"I'm here, baby!" Jessie finally burst into his room, almost falling face forward as she ran shin-first into his trunk. She ignored the shooting pain and hurried to his side. He was sitting up in bed, cowering all the way up by the headboard, shaking like a leaf, white as a sheet. His eyes were glued to the corner behind her. "Oh my god, _Sam_? What is it, baby?" Jessie sobbed, sitting on the bed and grasping him by the arms.

She shook him to get him to look at her, but he refused, still staring in terror at the far corner of the room by the window.

"Baby…? Sam?" Jessie turned to look, but saw only shadows. She turned back to her petrified son, panic and grief welling in her throat. " _Please_ , Sam, look at me. I'm here! Tell me what's wrong. Mommy's here for you, baby."

When he still didn't respond, trapped in whatever nightmare he was reliving behind his wide, vacant eyes, she snatched him into her arms. The black, heavy void that had been threatening to suffocate her for weeks finally won. Tears and gut-wrenching emotion rose up inside her like a massive tide, rushing to drown them both. Sam stared off into space, traumatized by his night terrors, traumatized by his brother's death, by _her failures_. She rocked him back and forward, clinging to him as if he held her last breath of life, sobbing uncontrollably.

Her husband, her son-they were both dead. She was alone, and her Sam's mind was dying, too. He used to be such an exuberant boy, even in the midst of all this rotting shit. Now he was an empty husk of himself, and it was all she could do to keep him here on Earth with her.

" _Ohhh gooodddd_ , I'm _so sorry_ , Sam!" Jessie cried so intensely that her entire body spasmed and shook, the tears gushing out of her in an endless downpour. "I failed you! I failed your brother! Please... _please_ forgive me!"

She kissed her boy's pale face, wetting him with her tears, desperately trying to revive him from his shock. She sobbed still more, great heaves racking her abdomen, when he finally blinked and focused on her face. "Mom?"

Jessie could only nod, her face contorted with emotion as she held him close to her.

Sam looked up into her face, watching her grief finally overwhelm her. She looked more present right now than she had for a long, long time. Sam felt a cloudy veil lift from him, and suddenly everything seemed a hundred times clearer. Forgetting his terror, he reached up and wrapped his arms around his mother's neck. "It's okay, mom...I love you. Please don't let me go."

" _I won't, baby!_ " Jessie clamped her hand over her mouth, shuddering with guilt and sorrow as her baby clung to her even tighter. "Never, never, never again. Please forgive me!"

The young mother and her frail son hugged and cried, rocking back and forth, sharing their grief, until eventually they both fell asleep. Jessie pulled Sam into her embrace and tucked his blanket around him. She hugged him tightly, finally seeing him, feeling him, connecting with him after so long of dreading to be around him. His face reflected her mistakes, her hidden pain. He looked like his father and Ron put together. Watching him waste away with her powerless to stop it had almost taken them both down.

Not anymore.

When the sun came up, Jessie watched her son sleep for a long time. She finally felt calm and at peace. She was still sad, and she still felt guilty-but her head was clear. She determined there, in Sam's uncomfortable twin bed, that she was really going to take Carol's advice, now.

Pete and Ron were dead. She had finally mourned them. Now it was time get her shit together.

She didn't have to be Rambo. But she was going to be a better mother. She was going to prove herself to Sam. And then she was going to prove herself to her community-and do everything in her power to be a leader rather than a coward in Alexandria.

* * *

That morning, the atmosphere in the Grimes house was languid, blissful, and intimate.

Carl, being the good son that he was, rose early and took care of Judith to let his mom and dad sleep in.

He changed her and then took her downstairs as the sun was rising. He made coffee and fed her, watching her with sleepy amusement as she played with her food in between reading his 'Black Panther' comic and spooning dry cornflakes into his mouth.

Upstairs, Rick and Michonne woke up in much the same fashion as they'd done the previous morning. The soft sounds of birds accompanied streaks of warm sunlight into the master bedroom as Rick slowly, indulgently went down on her. She shivered and massaged his hair, and came quietly though intensely against his warm face. He continued to lick her reverently, his hot tongue cleaning every tender fold of her dark lips. Then she returned the favor, laying on her side and letting him stroke her as she pulled a powerful orgasm from his stiff cock with her tantalizing mouth. She swallowed every drop of his cum and licked the crook of his thigh, causing him to laugh. Michonne smirked to herself, licking him again and delighting in his jerky, embarrassed reaction. So the hardened gunslinger was ticklish…

They took their time rising and without words, both decided to take a shower together.

He followed her into the bathroom, never taking his eyes off of her as she got the water going and slipped out of her robe. She came toward him as the steam began to fill the sunlit room, grasping his jeans and unbuttoning them. She kissed his lips as she unzipped him. Michonne stepped back, then, and got into the shower. "You coming?"

Hell yeah, he was coming.

Her body was even more impossibly perfect when it was slippery and drenched in steaming water. Rick got hard again, but patiently, lovingly washed her from head to toe. Then he washed her hair, utterly mesmerized as he watched the indulgent smile on her face, caused by his gentle massaging of her scalp.

Michonne knelt and washed him next, giving him teasing little kisses on his cock and pelvis as she did so. He simply gazed down at her, smitten. She washed his back while he braced himself with his hands against the slippery tile wall, then massaged his neck. Rick sighed long and hard, losing himself in her hands kneading his tense flesh. Finally she moved onto his hair, massaging his scalp with her nails, sending shivers down his spine.

His curls hanging in his eyes, Rick turned around and pulled her into him, kissing her deeply, pressing his rock solid erection against her slick stomach. They started running out of hot water, however, and he had to reluctantly release her.

He was still erect as they climbed out and he stood naked before her, running a towel through his wet curls. Michonne chuckled at him as she dried herself off and slipped her robe on again, tying the towel around her hair in a big fluffy beehive.

"What?" Rick smirked at her, taking his time wrapping his towel around his waist.

She simply shook her head and handed him his toothbrush. "You're a trip."

They brushed their teeth together with him standing by her side, nudging his need into her with that smirk still gleaming in his eyes. Michonne played it cool, but she was already starting to ache for him, and it just wasn't fair. They finished brushing and she pushed him against the sink, resting herself against him as she started the process of shaving him. Her insatiable old man simply watched her happily, pretty blues still gleaming, his hands resting lightly on her ass and his dick rubbing patiently against her stomach through the thin fabric of her robe.

Michonne lathered and carefully shaved him, then wiped his face and lips with a hot towel. She even felt generous enough (and, she had to admit, obnoxiously smitten with how sexy he was in the morning) to apply his aftershave for him.

When she was done, he held her fast against him, his thick, hot cock trapped between their bodies. He scent surrounding her. His muscular arms and firm grip making her tingle. Michonne looked into his eyes, feeling her pussy quiver and drip at his serious, incredibly sexy expression. He wanted her again. God, he was going to be the death of her, and she was helplessly drawn to her demise in every way.

She smiled and reached into her robe, pulling out the birth control pills Denise had given her. She had slipped a sleeve of them into her pocket last night, intent on taking one today after her shower. She hadn't figured that Rick would be joining her-though in hindsight, she probably should have. "If we keep this up, I'm gonna need to start taking these like immediately."

Rick raised his eyebrows at the pills, his eyes flickering from hers to them and back. He took them from her, lowering his gaze to examine them. He shifted on his feet but still held her tightly with one arm.

Michonne frowned as he paused, thinking. She let him think, suddenly nervous about what he was going to say. In the steamy little bathroom, Rick felt a strange new desire rise up him. One that frightened him. But he remembered his son's words...imploring him to be honest with Michonne about how he felt. All things he felt. Talk more. Okay. He was gonna talk.

"Michonne...can I ask you somethin'?"

"Sure." Michonne held her breath, her heart pounding against his bare chest.

He looked into her eyes, holding her hand and the pills to his heart. "What if you _didn't_ take these? What if...what if we tried to do what Glenn and Maggie did?"

Fear seized him as she stared at him, some emotion casting a shadow across her beautiful face that he couldn't read. Had he taken things too far, too quickly? He swallowed, his gaze slightly wounded, as he held her closer, preparing himself for her to reject his proposal.

"Rick...I have to tell you something before I answer that." Michonne took a deep breath, the memories and grief threatening to body slam her, and finally confessed her greatest pain. Rick simply listened, mute shock and then empathy gradually changing his face. "I had a son. His name was Andre…" Her voice wavered with emotion, her lip quivering with unshed tears. "He was my light. My joy."

Rick crushed her into him, putting the pills aside so he could rub her neck tenderly as she closed her eyes and let her tears fall.

"He was turned, and I had to….I had to…put him down. He was only three years old."

Rick held her as she cried into his chest, her confession thundering through him like a freight train. He'd been so stupid. How he could _not think_ , after all these months of watching how naturally nurturing she was with his kids, that there was history there? It hadn't even entered his mind, but now that she'd finally told him, it made perfect sense. It was completely obvious now, why he knew he could trust her with Judith and Carl as instinctively as he trusted his own gut when he was in fight or flight mode.

"I'm so sorry, baby," he whispered to her, wrapping his arms around her in their sunny little sanctuary. "I should've known. I should've asked...I'm so sorry."

They stood in silence for a long while, simply breathing each other in. Rick tried to pass on his empathy, protection, and love through his arms that held her against him.

Michonne shook her head, pulling away from him slightly and wiping her face. She sniffed and exhaled, meeting his eyes again. "You couldn't have known. I've wanted to tell you for a long time, I just…" she shrugged. "Couldn't find the words. Until now."

He nodded, still stunned and sorry. "I'm glad you did. I'd do anything to take that pain away for you."

"You already have."

Michonne took hold of his face between her slender, cool hands, and kissed his lips tenderly.

"To answer your question…" she breathed, rubbing herself into him, causing his erection to spring to life again. "I think I _should_ take these pills." She kissed him again, her tongue driving his sorrow for the loss of her little boy (a loss that affected him greatly, even though he would never know Michonne's child) to the back of his mind. "For six months."

He frowned and broke their kiss, leaning back to look at her.

"The supply only last for six months." She shrugged, her face radiant from her evaporating tears. "I want what _you_ want, Rick. I think...I could. But I need...time. Do you understand?"

"Six months, a year...take all the time you need. I'm just happy you're sayin' yes."

And he _was_ happy. The feeling radiated through his bones, chasing away his sorrow and guilt for forcing Michonne to relive the horrendous pain of losing a child. It made him so overwhelmed with love for her that he leaned in and kissed her again fiercely, reaching down to tug at the belt of her robe between their smashed together bodies.

"Let me give you a child again..." He breathed, loosening the belt and pulling at the silky garment hiding her naked flesh from him. She nodded against his lips as she allowed him to turn her around and lift her against him so she could wrap her legs around him. "Our child…"

Michonne nodded again, totally drawn in by the feel of his strong, slender hips pressing his throbbing erection along her silky thighs. Rick would have to pull out this time, until she had taken a few of the pills, but neither of them cared. They were so engrossed in each other, so overtaken by love and desire for each other, they couldn't join together fast enough.

His beautiful warrior whimpered and clung to him as he thrust into her hot, wet pussy, diving his tongue into her mouth for a possessive kiss as he did so. Wrapping her legs around him, she began to ride him slowly, her eyes closed and her body slick with perspiration from the steam that enveloped them.

Rick grunted quietly into her mouth, finding an instinctual rhythm with her as his hips moved against hers. He stroked one of her thighs with one hand and grasped her ass with the other, kissing and and fucking her to the beat of this new rhythm. It was like their bodies were totally in tune with one another, and Rick thought it couldn't get any better than this. He leaned into her chest and thrust faster, now, Michonne taking him with a delicious moan. She kept up with him, and they rocked into each other with hypnotic need. Every time he pounded into her, the toiletries on the sink rattled and the flesh of her ass jiggled in his grasp. Her chocolate breasts bounced against his face and lips, causing him to bite at her skin as his orgasm suddenly overtook him. He pulled out just in time, bowing over against her as his seed steaming gushed out onto her tight stomach.

Rick shuddered in her arms, his head cloudy with the remnants of his bliss. She hadn't cum yet, he realized, and he raised his head to look at her, an apology on his lips. She didn't look disappointed. Always amazed at how perpetually cool she was, he kissed her, then leaned over to collect the towel that had fallen from around his waist to clean her of his party foul.

As he rubbed her crotch and belly of his cooling cum, Rick couldn't help picturing a squirming baby in there. His hand slowed down as he lost himself in the fantasy. Michonne watched Rick tend to her stomach, knowing that he was probably daydreaming about making a baby. Happiness filled her, making her stomach flutter where he touched her.

"Dad!"

They were snatched out of their bliss by the sound of Carl's low, urgent voice just outside the door. He sounded like something was up, but he wouldn't dare walk in on them.

Rick stood close to the door crack and replied: "What is it, son?"

"We got company. He says his name is Jesus."


	7. the jesus situation

**a bit of a transition chapter, sans smut this time. but there's much more to come...**

* * *

 _what would you do_

 _if it all came back to you?_

 _when you notice it matters_

 _who you let under your skin_

 _would you step back from the line of fire?_

-Junip, 'Line of Fire'

* * *

 _Around three o'clock that morning..._

Heath was fighting the heavy, oppressive desire to doze off as he stood watch by the main gate, peering out into the darkness through the narrow opening for any signs of...anything.

So far, there'd been nothing but one or two walkers stumbling by every now and then. A couple got caught on the wooden spikes they'd rigged up around the "driveway", but otherwise there was no movement. He was exhausted. He'd been working all day with Rick, but they were so spread thin these days in the aftermath of the herd that (after an all too brief nap) he'd been volunteered to relieve Rosita of her shift so Rick could use her elsewhere. Where that was, or what Rick had her doing, Heath didn't know. He wouldn't ask.

He was beginning to understand that with Grimes, asking questions was an exercise in futility. If he didn't think you needed to know, you wouldn't. But when you were granted into his circle of trust, you knew you weren't there to fuck around. Rick got things done. For his family. For his community. He sometimes used brutal (even a little disturbing) methods, but Heath saw the determination and protectiveness in his actions a lot more clearly these days. Learning how to live and work alongside such a volatile, fiercely protective, impressively shrewd former cop had been unsettling and hard to get used to in the beginning.

But the night of the herd changed all that for Heath.

He had never seen anybody fight so ferociously toward what many of them believed was an insurmountable victory. But they _won_. Glenn, Daryl, Sasha and that goofy motherfucker Abraham had shown up just in time to lure hundreds of walkers into a lake of fire.

But before that, Rick, Michonne, Heath, Rosita, Carl, Tara, Aaron, Maggie, and a few others had fought like hell to make a dent in the massive army of dead barrelling down on their small town. Once it was all said and done, Heath had a great deal more appreciation for Rick Grimes. This town needed a protector - Grimes was it. Plain and simple.

Heath yawned heavily as he nodded his head to no one, thinking back on it with sleepy appreciation. His breath misted before his eyes and he shivered. Alexandria was chilly as fuck in the predawn hours.

Headlights caught his attention, and he stepped forward to peer through his glasses and the gate, attempting to see as far into the distance as he could. The lights looked like they were set too high in the vehicle for it to be Daryl and Aaron.

He looked up at the dark figure perched in the guard tower. Sasha stepped into the dim moonlight and peered down at him, her expression steely and alert. They nodded to each other to be on their guard, both turning once again toward the approaching headlights.

The headlights belonged to a white, medium sized cargo truck, Heath could make out as it neared the stop sign about a yard beyond the gates. The tall Alexandrian squinting into the dark windshield, trying to make out the two figures sitting in the truck's cab, his heart pounding with anticipation. He half expected a dozen Wolves to emerge from the cargo container and scurry about like ants, poking holes in their defenses and slipping beyond the walls to wreak terrible havoc yet again.

"It's Daryl!" Sasha hissed from above him just as the driver flicked the headlights on and off twice; their signal for friendlies.

Heath let out a silent sigh of relief, nodding to Sasha that he understood. He unlocked the gate and began to haul it open, now extremely curious about the vehicle swap - but more importantly, what Daryl and Aaron had stashed inside this new addition to their parking lot.

Daryl slowed to a rolling pause as Heath walked alongside the truck. "What's all this?" he asked of the exhausted-looking tracker.

Daryl held the wheel in one strong hand and scratched his chin with the other. Aaron was yawning in the passenger seat next to him. "We found a whole buncha shit," he rasped in his redneck drawl. "'Nuff supplies to last us a couple months. Clothes, baby shit, toys - fuckers thought of everythang." He spit out the window. "Ah yeah - and we bagged us some asshole calls himself Jesus."

Heath raised his eyebrows but Daryl was already pulling off, taking the truck up the road towards the infirmary and the pantry beyond that.

"Did he say they found Jesus...?" Sasha deadpanned, suddenly standing next to him. She was a sneaky one. She never made noise when she walked, which always unnerved him.

Heath shrugged, used to her innate stealthiness by now. "Next double shift says ya boy Rick kicks his teeth in before finding out _whatever_ his name is."

Sasha considered him for a moment, tempted to be insulted that some of the original Alexandrians still thought of her family - especially Rick - as a bunch of gun happy violence junkies. But, then she thought about the day they first met Aaron. Rick had been promising to give their new world order a good try. To cool off and focus on the future, rather than punching around at shadows in the dark, dragging them all down with him and his overprotective paranoia. Sasha trusted her leader, and had hope that he could make this work (the way he made _everything_ work). But at the moment, she couldn't truthfully say she knew where his head was really at. They'd have to wait and see. She could use a whole day of sleep, anyway.

"You're on." She agreed solemnly, staring after the red taillights of the white truck.

They shook on it.

* * *

Daryl and Aaron had had a trying, but ultimately successful day.

They hadn't planned to be back so soon, but when they found the truck Aaron had immediately suggested they get back on the road and head home with it.

Then Jesus came along.

He tricked them with some fireworks in a trashcan circus freak show bullshit, stole the truck, and the next few hours were nothing but an episode of Tom and Jerry. His feet were killing him and his lungs were sore as hell from all the running and brawling he'd done to catch that slippery, smug fucker.

They caught up to him, though. Aaron chased him out of the truck while Daryl choked off his evasive dashing about by a small lake. They fought - the dude was quick, nimble, and _skilled_. In the end, Daryl's sheer brute force (and the butt of his gun) had won out.

Now they were dragging him up the front steps of the infirmary house.

A startled and sleepy Denise looked him over. She determined that he could possibly have a mild concussion, but there was nothing she could do until he regained consciousness.

She patched them both up, tending to their minor cuts and scrapes. Aaron had been kicked in the face, and she advised him to put ice on it as soon as he got home or it was going to be the 'size of Texas' the next morning.

Tara helped them clear out a rarely-used utility room in the back of the brownstone. Daryl dumped a tied up Jesus inside, leaving some water, one of Carol's cookies (at Denise's insistence; she said he'd need something when he woke) and a note that they'd be back for him.

"We should tell Rick as soon as possible." Aaron declared quietly, wincing and gingerly touching his jaw as they took the truck up to the pantry.

Daryl sighed and yawned. "Rick ain't too keen on bringin' in new people yet," he replied. "You sure you wanna wake 'im up now?"

Aaron considered him for a moment as they parked and honked the horn to wake Olivia up. The strange fellow they'd met was unconscious and locked up. He was intrigued by the guy, but given his own history with Rick in suspicious mode, Aaron couldn't say he disagreed with Daryl's reasoning. They had an agreement, he and Daryl. A common goal; a common hope. They were on the same mission, of that he had no doubt. So the man who called himself Jesus could stay locked up for a few more hours.

"Okay," he nodded, following Daryl's lead. "Later this morning, then. When he's less…cranky."

Daryl shook his head at Aaron's strange tendency to make anything he said sound like he was saying it in one of those black and white movies. Even when he uttered words like 'cranky', he was always so serious, and earnest. It had spooked Daryl when they first met, but now he knew that it was just the way the guy was. Everybody had their thing. Aaron's wasn't all that bad.

"Yeah, sure man. We'll go get 'im together."

Daryl decided against adding that Rick was more than likely balls deep in Michonne right about now (if that sex hair and pussywhipped look in his eyes this morning was any indication of his mindset). There was no way in hell he was gonna risk interrupting _that_.

Olivia had gotten a little snippy with them for waking her up at first - until she saw the truckload of shit they brought her.

There was toilet paper and toothpaste, baby clothes, food and toys, several cases of bottled water, and more. They'd given all the medicine (sinus and cold stuff, pain medicine, betadine and peroxide, rubbing alcohol, cotton swabs, clean needles, sterile masks…) to Denise and Tara.

There was a whole crate of powdered food and grains - potatoes, eggs, milk, red wheat, quinoa, rye and lentils. There were a bunch of pouches with seeds and herbs, too. Tomatoes, peppers, sage, and more.

Whoever had stocked that thing, they weren't fuckin' around. They intended to settle down. Their misfortune would mean another lease on Alexandria's survival. The two scavengers hauled all that shit into the garage and left it for the pantry lady to sort out. She looked like she was wide awake, now; her cheeks were flushed with excitement as she immediately started counting and cataloging everything they'd delivered.

Before Daryl and Aaron could leave, Olivia inquired about apples for some kind of dessert.

"Nah, didn't find nothin' like that." He said tiredly, ready to crash against a wall somewhere.

"Oh, okay. Carol told me to check with you when you got back. She left you this." Olivia said, handing him a scribbled note Carol had left for him.

' _If you want me to make that damned cobbler, bring the stuff to my place._

 _Last house on Oakwood Lane._

 _The blue one with the little white porch swing._

 _\- C'_

He frowned at the note. "When she move in there?"

Olivia shrugged distractedly, examining the box of dozens of packages of seeds.

Daryl's mind went into a million different directions as he vaguely said goodnight to Aaron, immediately walking off on his own to find Carol's house. One thing he was thinking was that he didn't have any apples or flour, but he hoped she'd like the toothpaste and flower _seeds_ he brought.

Another thing that invaded his thoughts as he trudged through the dark, eyeing the street signs, was worry that she'd been unhappy somehow, and that's why she moved out without telling him. Carol was like him sometimes - she rarely spoke up if somethin' was bothering her. He wondered if it was somethin' _he'd_ done. He'd kept to himself when they first got here, but for the last few weeks he'd been trying to engage more. At least with Aaron. Denise talked to him whether he wanted her to or not, so he started talkin' back. But he thought that was what Carol had wanted.

Or maybe she felt like if he was gonna be outside the walls hunting all the time, she should just do her own thing, in her own house. He couldn't fault her for that. He'd miss seeing her when he came home, but it wasn't her responsibility to wait around for him, like some security blanket. She didn't belong to him.

He ignored the heavy pang of possessiveness that struck him as he finally found Oakwood Lane and headed down the dark street, now keeping his eyes peeled for the blue house with the little white porch swing.

"Hell, maybe one night'a listenin' to Rick and Michonne bone was enough…" he muttered to himself as he neared the end of the street. If she hadn't beat him to it, he couldn't say he wouldn't have done the same thing.

He finally reached the house. Daryl stood in the middle of the street, staring at it. It had 'Carol' written all over it.

She was sitting on the little swing, smoking a cigarette. At almost four in the morning. He wasn't surprised. Carol never slept much. Another in a long, silently acknowledged list of things they had in common.

She gave him a little wave, blowing smoke through her nostrils. "You bring the shit for the cobbler?"

"Nah…" he trudged up the yard, onto the porch, and dumped his bag before sitting down next to her. His weight made the little swing creak and groan, effectively halting what little motion she was getting in the slight breeze. "Found a truck full o'supplies, though. Got you some flowers."

Carol raised an eyebrow at him. He bent over and fished her gifts out of the bag, avoiding her gaze as he tossed the toothpaste and packets of flower seeds onto her lap. She slowly examined them, handing him her cigarette. "How romantic." She deadpanned, smirking at him.

He took a drag and shrugged. "We got herbs, baby food, plant seeds, too. Jesus almost got the drop on us for it, but I knocked his ass out."

His silver-haired friend laughed out loud. "You kidding? Who the hell is _Jesus_?"

They both chuckled quietly as he recounted the story of the ridiculous chase he and Aaron went on that day after Jesus, the mysterious guy with the beard and karate moves. "Bastard was like Bruce Lee, it was fuckin' stupid…" he grunted as they shared her cigarette. "Aaron's jaw is gonna swell up like a balloon, I feel kinda bad."

"But you saved him." Carol uttered, staring at the packet of seeds in her lap. "Even though he tried to take the truck, he fought you...you saved him."

Daryl watched her from behind his hair, his eyes latched onto her pensive face. "Decided we were g'on do this _right_ , remember?"

"How do we know what's right?" She asked sharply, her pale blue eyes zeroing in on his face. "Who the hell are _we_ to decide what needs to be done? Who lives and who doesn't?"

Daryl continued to watch her warily, sensing there was something she was on about that didn't have nothin' to do with Jesus. "What's up with you?"

Carol's face went paler than it usually was, if that was possible. She put out her cigarette and took in a deep, shaky breath, unleashing him from her gaze. She waited a minute before she spoke again, causing the feeling of anticipation to ripple through him like tiny needles sticking him all along his neck and arms. "I...I screwed up, Daryl." She whispered. "I screwed up, bad."

Daryl immediately drew her closer to him, reaching out for her with his long arms. He folded her up against him, looking down at her. Whatever it was, it was doing a number on her. "What happened?"

She wiped at her damp eyes, sighing. "Morgan died because of me. In the herd." Her voice was a mixture of heavy sorrow and fierce anger. "Then he _stuck me with this Wolf_ and now Rick knows." He frowned as he processed what she was telling him in a rapid rush, fighting off tears. She glanced up at him. "Rick knows...and I have to be this other person, now. We have to...do things…"

"Hey." Daryl forced her to look up at him again, tilting her chin up with one dirty finger. "You ain't gotta do nothin' you don't wanna do. Nobody's gonna force you. I won't let 'em."

"You can't stop it. We don't have a choice."

Carol wiped her face again and stood up, slipping away from his embrace and carrying her gifts into the house.

Daryl sat still for a beat, reeling from everything she'd just told him. He would need to talk to Rick first thing. He wasn't gonna let what happened before happen again. They weren't losing Carol - either by some fucked up power play or some weird punishment for doing what she thought was right. He had to believe she wouldn't just _let Morgan die_. Not the way she was tellin' it. She was being hard on herself, like always. Daryl knew it was more complicated than that. She had reasons. She felt guilty, but she did what she had to do. His mind made up, he followed her inside.

She'd been rummaging around in the kitchen, laying out her flower seeds and some garden tools for something to do tomorrow. She didn't look at him as she passed by him toward the living room, muttering something about going to bed. He grabbed her and pulled her into him, his heart pounding and his abdomen constricting as he crushed her small body against his much larger one. "You're gonna figure this shit out, you hear me?" He whispered into her soft silver curls. "You _always_ do, Carol."

Carol closed her eyes and leaned into him, feeling safe and held together by the sheer strength of his embrace. She was overwhelmed by his scent, full of dirt and sweat and the sweet smell of grass and wilderness that was always just apart of him. Daryl was strong and sturdy and dependable. He was always there to catch her; he always had been, even when they were still strangers to each other. He knew her better than she'd ever allow anyone else to.

Daryl leaned into her, his forehead pressed to hers, his hair falling into his eyes as they closed. Whenever she allowed him this close to her he wanted it to last as long as possible. She was some kind of safety he couldn't get anywhere else; his small, strong friend and caretaker. In the dark hallway of her blue house, the two close friends held each other, heat and tenderness brewing steadily between them.

A steady stream of air escaped the stoic tracker's nostrils as he reached up to touch her soft cheek. "What if there's no way out of this…?" she asked, her voice scarcely above a whisper.

"We'll find one together, then." He grunted down at her, his voice taking on a distinctly husky tone as he pulled her closer to him.

He wanted to kiss her. And more. The desire struck him like thunder and lightening, and he tightened his grip. Carol reached up to enclose his wrist with her small, thin fingers. She leaned back slightly, looking up into his eyes again. "You don't want any of my bullshit, Daryl."

"What if I do?" He muttered roughly, leaning ever closer to her, his gaze focused on her lips.

Determined to put a stop to this now, Carol shook her head slowly, pulling herself further from his embrace. "Trust me. You don't."

He watched, his hair still obscuring his shining eyes, as she took more steps away to put some small distance between them. She offered him a sad smile. "There's two spare rooms, but I made up the couch anyway. Stay as long as you want…"

She turned to go, paused, then turned back and lifted herself to her tiptoes to kiss his forehead.

Daryl stood in conflicted silence, watching as she retreated upstairs, her small figure disappearing into the darkness of the rest of the house.

When she was gone, he turned and stepped into the shadowy living room. She'd made up the couch for him with a couple of sheets and a pillow. She knew him well. Too damn well. She had to know that had been hard for him...maybe that's why she didn't stay to argue, but left him alone to lick his wounds. Her mercy and her rejection burned him up inside.

He went back outside and slumped down on the porch swing, his only company the sounds of the crickets in the damp bushes surrounding the house. She'd left her pack of cigarettes for him. Daryl plucked one out and fired it up, taking a long drag of it.

 _You don't want any of my bullshit_ , she'd said.

She was wrong. He thought about Glenn and Maggie, and Rick and Michonne - hell, even _Carl_ was reaching out for someone to hold on to. Someone to fight for. Maybe they were all on to somethin'.

Without Merle, Daryl thought he'd always be useless and alone. Rick slowly showed him otherwise, and Carol...well, Carol had become the only person in this fucked up world that could wake up a part of Daryl he thought had died a long time ago. They were both fucked up; they were both lone wolves in a world full of monsters. His shit and her shit were entwined, there was no goin' back from that.

He didn't like this. Over the long weeks since he got her back, his caring for her had tripled in size, and his desire was harder and harder to ignore. It wasn't like he could help it. She had to know that. He did, in fact, want all of her bullshit. As much of it as she could throw at him. She wasn't the only one with problems. She wasn't the only one aching for escape, release, relief, something - _anything_ \- other than solitude. Guilt. Ghosts.

Daryl suddenly became nervous as hell, but he just kept smoking. Somehow, he was gonna change Carol's mind.

* * *

 _Right this moment…_

The stranger was lean, and smaller in stature than most of the men surrounding him.

He wore a wool beanie over his long, dark blond hair, which gave way to a full, dirty blond beard. All that paired with a long, leather trench coat, a vest, and leather gloves. His bright, serene blue eyes stood out starkly among all that hair and all those clothes. They were shrewd, confident, and kind. "Hi…" he said in a calm, benign voice. "I'm Jesus."

Rick stared at him, his own cerulean eyes digging into him warily. He certainly looked the part.

"I'm Rick." He acknowledged, clenching his jaw as he nodded to his family, situated around the dining room table. "This is Maggie, Glenn, my son, Carl, Michonne, Abraham, and that's Daryl."

"Hello…" Jesus looked them all in the eyes in turn as Rick introduced them, landing on Daryl last.

"You said we should talk. So...let's talk." Rick wasted no time getting down to business. "You can start by tellin' us how the hell you got out."

After Carl had interrupted him and Michonne upstairs, they'd suddenly been swarmed by the others, rushing in after Denise had apparently discovered the guy missing from the utility room in the infirmary. Rick was annoyed that this was the first he was hearing of their visitor, but the matter at hand was that he'd escaped and found his way into Rick's house. He'd been loose, wandering around Alexandria, for who knew how long while they all slept.

After hastily getting dressed and ignoring some rather pointed looks from Glenn and Abraham, Rick and Michonne had joined the others. They had him at gunpoint in the living room, where Carl had found him just standing there, staring at the intricately designed clock on the wall above the couch. Daryl gruffly explained that he and Aaron had found him out on the road. He stole their truck, they stole it back, and decided - after all that - to bring him back here.

This was what it was gonna be like, then, Rick decided as they escorted the bearded escape artist into the dining room. Letting Maggie and Spencer try to populate this place; letting Daryl and Aaron decide who comes in. Trouble like this. Situations like _this_ \- a stranger in their house, sneaking around their town under their slumbering noses. He could've killed them all and been done with it.

Rick swallowed down his anger, deciding to deal with Daryl and Aaron later. For now, he gave his singular focus to the enigmatic fellow in the trench coat sitting at the head of his dining room table.

"Well, one guard can't cover two exists," Jesus began smoothly, shrugging as though that should be obvious. "Or third floor windows. Knots untie...locks get picked."

He went on to tell them what he'd observed about them while he was running loose in the dark. Rick tensed up (and so did Daryl, pacing in the corner near the wall) as Jesus explained that they had an impressive arsenal, but their provisions were low. For the amount of people they had living here - close to sixty, Maggie confirmed - he estimated they would run out of food in less than six months if they didn't start growing things. The room was silent as a grave as he spoke. They all knew he was right. They had all been silently counting the days, weeks, meals. But none of them had any solutions, yet. Maggie had little to nothing for crops. Scavenging was becoming increasingly more time-consuming and fruitless. Daryl and Aaron's discovery yesterday had probably made up for weeks of unsuccessful runs since they found all that booze in an overturned mack truck down the highway.

Rick didn't like Jesus knowing this.

For her part, Michonne was immune to Rick, Daryl and Abraham's silent hostility. She listened carefully as Jesus spoke. There was something about him she couldn't quite put her finger on. But her gut was telling her that they _should_ listen to him. That he had more to say (more to offer them) than a simple report on the state of affairs in their still-recovering community. A quick look around the table told her that Glenn and Maggie were thinking the same. Michonne found it hard to look at Carl - he kept smirking at her and it was driving her crazy. Being his best friend _and_ his father's lover was creating a new dynamic between them that she was having trouble getting used to.

Jesus, it turned out, addressed their mistrust and trigger-shy attitudes head on. "Look, we got off to a bad start. But we're both on the same side - the _living_ side."

Setting aside her awkwardness around Carl, Michonne felt a chill ripple through her as Jesus continued, his soft blue eyes glinting with earnest appeal.

"You and Aaron had every reason to leave me out there." He spoke directly to Daryl, now, trapping the big, cagey tracker under his gaze. "But you didn't."

"Yeah...maybe we should've." Daryl growled, not backing down.

"He's got a point." Rick drawled, tilting his head and gesturing impatiently to the room at large. "You haven't told us _why_ we should trust you yet."

"Very fair. Well..." Jesus smiled at Rick, sitting up straighter in his chair and placing his gloved hands on the table as though prepared to show them a magic trick, "I'm from a community a lot like yours. Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with. I also take teams out to scavenge for supplies." His gaze flipped upward again to Daryl. "I took that truck because my community needs things. Just like yours does. I was in a hurry to get back to my crew because we'd gotten separated. And you...looked like trouble."

Daryl huffed and paced, annoyed at this entire situation.

"But - turns out - you're good people. I can see that, with what you've built here. How you've kept it safe for so long, it's...impressive." His attention was once again on Rick, a person he had quickly observed, once they'd all gathered here to accost him, was the leader of this group. _Rick_ was the man Jesus would have to convince if there was any hope of reaching an alliance. He was the lord of the arsenal, the keeper of the gates, the man in charge. And he was extremely guarded.

But there were other angles he could try, Jesus knew, simply by observing. The young woman, Maggie and her partner Glenn seemed to have some pull. And also...Jesus remembered Michonne, whom he could see in his periphery. She was with Rick. His posture had been demonstrably protective whenever he was near her. There was something to work with there.

Not to mention...her name was instantly familiar to him when she'd been introduced. He had heard this name before, and her face...she was beautiful in a way that was wholly unique. Too unique to mistake her for someone else. The person he was thinking of...if this Michonne and _that_ Michonne were indeed one and the same, he would need to make this alliance happen as soon as possible.

He just had to get past Rick. All the others would fall in line. He could sense it, acutely. That was, after all, part of his skillset and why he'd been chosen for his job.

"Wait a minute...you mean you're _already_ tradin' with other groups?" Maggie spoke up, her smoky twang soft yet laiden with a tinge of urgency. "How many? Where are they?"

Jesus smiled at her, appreciating her curiosity. That was a good sign. "Two more, so far. You'd be the third…" his gaze once again returned to Rick. "If we could work something out."

"What exactly d'you think we can work out?" Rick drawled, his brow folding into a hard line.

Jesus sighed and leaned forward in his chair, folding his hands together, never taking his eyes from Rick's. "You need to keep your people fed. We have enough to share, indefinitely. We trade, we grow things - tomatoes, sorghum, herbs - we also have some livestock."

Glenn and Maggie exchanged glances, both thinking of all the trouble they'd been having with Maggie's plans for crops and their dwindling pantry supply.

"Go on…" Rick granted, nodding and scratching his chin; still suspicious.

"We've been doing pretty well with trading until a few months ago. We've had...trouble."

"What kinda trouble?" Daryl demanded gruffly.

Jesus considered them for a beat. He had to be careful here. He had observed a lot about them overnight, but he didn't have the whole picture just yet. Also, he needed to get them in front of Murdock. He had a good (albeit still cautious) feeling about this group, but the final decision would have to be Murdock's. His eyes met Michonne's instinctively, a dim plan forming as he spoke almost as if it was to her alone, now. She was the key.

"All I can tell you is that there are folks out there who aren't interested in trading. They're for taking anything they want, in as brutal a fashion as they can." Michonne stared at him, feeling reeled in by his fixed gaze. He was appealing to _her_ now - _why_ , she couldn't guess just yet - but she found that she was open to it.

"The Wolves…" she whispered, raising her chin at him appraisingly.

Jesus looked at her shoulder for a second, processing what she was implying. So, the Wolves had visited here recently. He could tell that _some_ tragic storm had blown through this town, leaving it barely standing. A herd of walkers, he'd deduced. But also, it seemed, a murdering herd of humans. He could also hear it in Michonne's voice and sense it filling the room with a tense silence that held them all still. He knew the bloody scene the Wolves left behind; knew it well. He returned his eyes to hers and nodded; they continued to speak to each other as though they were the only two there.

Rick's body tensed again, winding him tight like a coil spring as he watched Jesus home in on Michonne. His patience was hanging by a thin thread, but his curiosity kept him quiet - for now.

"Among others. I'm here because you have weapons. Lots of them. And trained fighters, from what I can tell of the way you've set up your defense posts. I stuck around because I was hoping we could set up a trade - well, bigger than that. I want to build an _alliance_ , against some very bad people that threaten us _all_. Our leader, Murdock? He needs those weapons. He needs _you_. "

At the mention of the name Murdock, and the way Jesus was staring at her, Michonne froze. A crashwave of emotion propelled itself through her body. He couldn't mean _her_ Murdock, from what seemed like a thousand years ago now...could he? He was looking at her with a covert gleam of understanding. Something he wasn't saying aloud was hidden in his expression.

Michonne became aware of the others, watching them (especially Rick and Carl). She relaxed her expression, forcing her face to become neutral again just as Abraham sounded off from his leaning post against the doorframe behind Carl.

"Who's _Murdock_?"

"And why the hell should we give him any of our weapons?" Glenn spoke up too, his voice quiet but deadly serious. Jesus was still gazing at Michonne beseechingly. She had recognized the name, he knew it. This _was_ the Michonne Murdock had told him about, the certainty of it filled him with the warring emotions of hope and some kind of fear he couldn't place. Or didn't want to examine.

"Hey," Rick grunted, fed up with Jesus' obsession with Michonne and getting more and more impatient by the second. "You talk to _me_ , now."

Jesus relinquished Michonne from his gaze and turned to look again at Rick, sitting back in his chair. Rick raised his chin, taking control of the interrogation again.

"Who is he?" He demanded in a menacing drawl.

Jesus smiled again, unfazed. "He's the leader of my community, the Hilltop. He's a good man." He sighed at Rick's unflinching suspicion. "Look - I know how all this sounds. And I know you need more than just my word to trust me." He raised his hands, glancing from Rick to Daryl and then to the room at large. "We're a day's journey from here on four wheels. Come and see for yourselves. Bring your weapons if you feel like you need to. Murdock will want to meet you. You _should_ meet him. He'll tell you everything you need to know...I think you'll find that the two of you have a lot more in common than you'd expect."

He purposefully did not look at Michonne this time, but she could feel his gaze coming out of the side of his beanie nonetheless. She was still reeling over the very possibility that Murdock - _her_ Murdock - was alive and leading another group so close to them, all this time. She tried to focus on Rick, tried to ascertain whether he would take Jesus's offer. She silently willed him to consider it. She felt something pulling her toward whatever direction their mysterious visitor wanted to carry them. Pulling her toward the Hilltop,and the possibility of a mutually beneficial alliance. Pulling her toward the hope of a reunion with an old, dear friend she never, ever thought she'd see alive again.

Rick exchanged looks with Daryl, then turned to take in the scene around the table. Glenn and Maggie looked cautiously hopeful. Carl simply returned his gaze with a mask of cool observance. He'd get his boy's opinion when they were alone, then. Abraham looked as unbothered as ever.

He finally came to Michonne. The second their eyes met, he knew what she wanted. He found as they communicated silently that he wanted it, too. They needed food and more supplies, but they also needed _numbers_ , and a much deeper knowledge of the world outside these walls.

Knowledge that Jesus seemed to possess in spades. If Murdock and the community at the Hilltop were anything like Jesus, and if this turned out to be _real_...maybe they could finally start making concrete steps toward building the life they'd been hoping for since the day Michonne convinced him to come here.

He sighed long and hard, now placing his hands on the table, mimicking Jesus's posture. He looked the man in the eyes, making his final assessment of his character. Jesus sat open and expectant, waiting.

"Look...we don't take chances anymore. That's just the way it is now." He gestured with his ring hand to the group, nodding slowly as his answer to the man's offer solidified in his mind. A plan was forming. They could work with this. "But, if what you're sayin' is true...then _maybe_...we can help each other out."

Michonne, Maggie, and Glenn relaxed at the same time without realizing it.

"That's good to hear. That's a start." Jesus conceded, his expression appreciative.

* * *

Abraham kept watch over Jesus at the dining room table while everyone gathered in the kitchen for a quick plan and break.

His steely blue-green eyes remained fixed firmly on the bearded prophet and a small, suspicious smirk twitched against his ginger handlebar mustache as he chewed on a toothpick. Jesus simply sat there, watching Abraham watch him, that same benign expression settled in his boyishly handsome features. He listened to the hushed voices discussing him and what he'd told them. They were still somewhat undecided, but he was confident that he had reached Michonne, and through her, Rick. It was only a matter of patience, which he was blessed with in abundance - another part of his skillset that gave him ample advantage over ninety percent of the people he met in this world. Though he knew he didn't have much time. He needed to get back to his group, the one he'd been separated from out there in the open. They might need his help, but Jesus knew bringing Rick and some of his people along would add considerably to any small aid he himself could give them if they were in trouble. He hoped they could hold on until he reached them.

"We shouldn't discuss this here, with him listening…" Glenn said quietly, gesturing with a flip of his eyes to the man sitting in the dining room behind him. "This could still turn out to be a trap of some kind."

"Let's meet up at your place, then. Take a final vote," Rick agreed. "If we do this, we do it with _everyone_ on board."

He glanced at Michonne, knowing she'd say the same thing. She nodded. "I'll take Jesus back to the infirmary, make sure he stays put until it's decided."

"I'll go with her," Daryl grunted, still eyeing Jesus with barely contained malice. "We should be careful with this guy. I gotta feelin' about 'im. He ain't tellin' us the whole story."

Rick nodded again, considering his friend as he rubbed at his clean-shaven chin. His eyes flickered to his lover, that same feeling gnawing at him, too. "I know what you mean..."

Michonne remained silent. She was thinking that she knew part of what Jesus wasn't telling them, but she was torn. Part of the reason she wanted to escort him back to Denise's place was to see if she could question him along the way, away from Rick and the others. She didn't want to bother Rick with her suspicions about Murdock before she could be at least somewhat more certain that she wasn't just seeing things in Jesus's expressions, or hearing hidden messages in his words that weren't really there.

"I've got a feelin' about him, too, but it's...hopeful." Maggie spoke up.

While Michonne was thinking, Glenn had gone to give Spencer the heads up about the leaders meeting, kissing her on the forehead and leaving her with her arms folded as she leaned against the kitchen island. She shrugged, meeting their gazes in turn.

"I think this could be what saves us from starving. _If_ he's trustworthy," she added when Rick shifted on his feet and regarded her thoughtfully.

"Well…" Rick nodded, licking his lips. He followed it up with a conciliatory shrug. "We heard him out. Now let's take a vote."

Maggie nodded her acquiescence and Rick turned his attention to his son, who was as silent and stoic as ever.

What he didn't know was that Carl was thinking about Enid, about how Jesus had hours to sneak around their community. If what he had implied was true, he'd looked in on each house, counted their residents, went through their things, learned all he could about them. That meant he'd been in the Monroe house, where Enid had been sleeping, oblivious to any possible danger lurking too near for his comfort. His heart had flared to life with fear upon realizing that, and anger that he hadn't been there to discover Jesus first before he moved on to any other houses. He didn't like the feeling. It was always there when Judith, Michonne, or his dad was in danger. But this was different. With Enid, it took on a different rhythm than he was used to. It was foreign and uncomfortable and it made him want to go to her as soon as possible, even though he knew she was safe, since Jesus was here under their watch.

"What is it, son?" Rick asked, concern coating his deep tenor as Maggie and Daryl headed back into the dining room to inform Jesus of their decision.

"I need to check on Enid," was all Carl would say, unconvinced that now was the time or place to try to explain these new feelings to his father or Michonne. "I shouldn't have left her..."

Rick observed his boy's expression, and found that it mirrored his own when he was feeling anxious to be certain his loved ones were unharmed. Carl was growing up too fast. Rick felt his heart lurch at the realization that _this_ was going to be it, now. Love drove them. Loyalty bonded them. Fear protected them. This had always been true for Rick since the day he became leader of their family of survivors. He was constantly afraid - of failing, of losing someone, of leading them into disaster by the choices he made alone. But now that fear was as clear as day in his son's bright blue eyes. Carl was indeed a man, now. Only a man could recognize (or manifest) that kind of fear. It was unlike any other: the fear of not being able to protect the ones you love.

Rick sighed and leveled with his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I need you to hang back and look after Judith, but I'll make you a deal: I'll send Enid your way as soon as I see her. She can stay with you until you feel like it's safe. How's that sound?"

Carl frowned, processing his father's rule, and finally nodded. He knew his fear was irrational at the moment. Enid was probably fine. He just needed to see her. He didn't have the words to explain it.

He appreciated his father's silent understanding of what he was feeling; his acceptance and compromise without question. "Okay. Thanks, Dad."

"Sure, son."

The Grimes family went back into the dining room and Rick stood over Jesus. He placed a hand on his thigh holster and leaned on air, gazing down at their potential new ally with steel in his blue eyes. "We need to put you back in your...cell...while we make our final decision. You won't be there for long. You good with that?"

Jesus smiled, knowing he had no choice. "Do your thing. I'll wait. And Rick…?" Rick paused, eyeing him. The silver-tongued diplomat leaned forward in his chair, his expression earnest. "This _will_ work out, you have my word. Your world is about to get a whole lot bigger."

Rick let those words sink in, nodding slowly as he backed up toward the kitchen again. "Looks like it already has, Jesus."

* * *

Michonne was tying her dreads partially back from her face, after days and nights of them falling into her eyes and Rick running his fingers through them.

Today she needed to focus. She added one of her colorful bandanas to keep sweat at bay, too. It was shaping up to be a warm spring. Jesus's words and memories of Murdock swam through her head as she readied herself for what she knew would be a long day, full of twists and turns. The feeling settled heavily in her gut and the memory of the last time she'd seen her old friend floated up to the surface from there. It had been at the airport, when she was about to go off to law school thirteen years ago. They had had a summer-long affair, after years of dancing around each other as good childhood friends. But she had a life to build for herself, and love was not something she had room for. He knew that. He accepted that, as he accepted everything about her. The last thing he'd said to her was ' _whenever you're ready to settle down, you call me first, you hear?'_

At the time, it had made her laugh through her tears. Now, though, it filled her with overwhelming sadness. She had thought he was dead. As dead as everyone else from her past that she loved. The possibility of seeing him again now filled her with some kind of twisting, poking emotion that she couldn't quite define.

Rick was behind her suddenly, enclosing her in his strong arms, gently pulling her towards him until her back was flush against his front. Her body molded perfectly to his. His scent and warm skin drove away her memory, pushing it back into the shadows where it had been buried all these years. He felt his damp, plush lips against her shoulder.

Then his voice: "What are you thinkin'?"

He needed to know. He hadn't recognized some of the expressions on her beautiful face during their talk with this strange new visitor. That worried him. He counted on them being in sync - and he knew he needed it now, more than ever. Their bond had become so strong and essential over the course of their friendship, and so intimate since they'd finally taken their relationship further, that Rick found himself feeling off balance when he couldn't discern her mood or mindset. He hadn't expected to feel it so soon.

Michonne was always quiet and watchful when they faced potentially dangerous situations, but this morning, in Jesus's presence, she'd retreated into herself in a way that drove Rick to make sure they were still on the same page. It had only been an hour since they'd been interrupted. Despite all that had developed in that hour, Rick was still back there, in their sunny little sanctuary, dreaming of a future (and possibly a child) together. Right now, he needed to know that she was, too.

She turned to face him, forcing him to loosen his embrace, though he would not move back to give her more space. He needed to be near her for as long as possible before they both separated again to go to work.

The way she was wearing her hair today revealed her gorgeous face in its entirety to him, draped in sunlight from the windows in her (their) bedroom. He sighed, gazing at her with love filling his heart to the brim. "I think...Jesus is good," her smooth voice said finally. She looked up from the fur collar of his light corduroy jacket, her eyes full of the same hope he saw in Maggie's. "Or at least not a threat. Not yet. I think we _need_ this to work out with him. Don't you?"

"Yeah. I do." Rick drawled, reaching up to caress her face with his thumb. He held her loosely with one arm, stroking her bare skin underneath her tanktop. Of course she was hoping that he would give Jesus a chance, because it meant a chance for their survival; their future. This was the new world that she wanted to build with him, and he was now dedicated to doing everything he could to provide a chance at that for her; for their children, for them all. "I'm gonna make sure it does, one way or the other."

Michonne knew exactly what he meant. He was prepared to fight for what they needed if they had to. He would wait to see if 'had to' was the way things turned out, but the thought of a fight with Murdock's (if this _was_ her Murdock) community made her uneasy.

"You still with me, baby?" Rick asked softly, swaying with her in his loose embrace, angling his face to get her to focus on him again. She was retreating into her thoughts and it was worrying him.

Michonne met his gaze, clearing her head and focusing solely on those gorgeous, intense blue eyes of his. Those eyes stirred so much love and desire in her that they drove out all other noise - like a silent waterfall that washed over her. She felt tethered to him by their very souls when she looked into his eyes this way. She always had, since she felt that pull, that connection, through those fences back at the prison the day they met.

She made a decision. She would question Jesus about Murdock. If he confirmed her suspicions, she would tell Rick immediately. As her leader and her man, it was his right to know before they walked into a situation where they'd be negotiating their survival.

"Yes, always..." She whispered resolutely, leaning her lips against his. "You ready?"

He nodded, kissing her fiercely, his plush pink lips attaching themselves to her thick, dark brown ones and peeling away with aching slowness. "Let's get this done." Rick growled, squeezing her ass possessively before they parted again and headed for the door.

And possibly, hopefully, their future.

* * *

Daryl walked a few paces in front, his bow slung across his shoulder, silent and keeping watch for nosey neighbors.

Abraham a few paces behind, carrying his weapon as though he was a prison guard escorting a troublemaker to the max security wing.

Michonne walked along side Jesus on their way to the infirmary, her sword slung across her back, her head-to-toe battle armor practically a second skin by now. Rick was making sure Judith and Carl were all set, then he and Maggie would follow behind and collect Carol along the way to meet up with Spencer and Glenn. The community hadn't quite woken up yet. It was Sunday. For some reason, despite most rules of the 'old' modern civilization being gone, Sunday was still a day most people slept in.

The neighborhood was quiet, the only sounds reaching them were the birds twittering in the distance and the their light footsteps.

Michonne was silent, pensive, thinking through her questions. Jesus was patient, his eyes on the trees and the houses they passed - the ones he'd visited during the dark morning hours alone. He knew she wanted to speak to him, and he knew what about. He already felt a connection to her; not just through what he'd heard from Murdock, but because it wasn't often that he could look into someone's eyes and communicate without words. It wasn't mind reading, per se. Jesus smirked to himself as he thought of what Murdock had once called it: soul reading. Murdock had told him, when they began to work together to build the Hilltop into what it is today, that Jesus was a soul reader. He could pick out a person's truest intentions and basest instincts, just by looking into their eyes and staying there until they inadvertently told him everything he needed to know. He could read people easily, but sometimes it went much deeper than that. He felt this with Murdock when they first met. He felt this with Michonne now. Like Murdock, Michonne did not flinch from his scrutiny. He very much wanted to get to know her better.

He decided to break the ice.

"It's still surprises me to hear birds singing in this world…" He looked down at her profile from squinting at the trees through the morning sun. She was quite becoming. Another thing Murdock had mentioned. This was the right Michonne, he was becoming increasingly sure of it. All he needed was for her to confirm it, somehow. "It seems like they'd have died off with everything else. But they survive. Gives me hope."

"What do you hope to get out of this?" Michonne asked, finally looking over at him.

He shrugged, smiling that same serene smile. "I told you: an alliance. Between my people and yours. To bring you into our expanding world. And to return to Murdock with some good news."

He watched carefully for her reaction to the mention of Murdock's name.

She stared at her boots for a moment, watching her feet move one in front of the other, before finally asking coolly: "What's he like? This Murdock guy?"

Jesus couldn't help smirking. She was being careful. His eyes darted to Daryl in front of them and he leaned his face to the side in acknowledgement of the big-boned ginger stalking them from behind. "He's...very smart. Very kind. A natural leader. He's family oriented, though I believe he'd been alone before the world went to hell."

"Alone?" Michonne frowned, still watching her boots.

It had been easily eight years since they'd last spoke, and _her_ Murdock had remained stubbornly single even then, waiting for her, he always joked. He'd dated on and off, even entertained the idea of marrying one woman he met traveling the world (that was his way, he was a nomad, Murdock), but never committed to it. An only child, his extended family had been _Michonne's_ family at one point in their lives. They were inseparable when they were growing up, like brother and sister, sometimes like twins, her mother always remarked. She had teasingly called them 'M &M' all the time, like the candy. It made Michonne sad to remember those days, and her mother.

"He told me he spent most of his time traveling. He never really 'settled down'." Jesus sighed, now watching his own boots. "I know he regrets that, though. So...he treats every member of Hilltop like his own family. It's one of the reasons I stuck around. Why I'm loyal to him beyond our partnership."

So that was one more thing that convinced her they were referring to the same Murdock. _Her_ Murdock. She finally looked at Jesus in the eyes, letting him see the truth developing behind hers.

"You care about him?"

Jesus considered her question. From anyone else, it would seem odd, even a little invasive after only just meeting each other. But from her, he understood it to be an inquiry about Murdock's wellbeing. Having people around you who actually care - especially as the leader of a community of survivors in _this_ world - was important. A man could go mad if there was no one there to keep him grounded; keep him tethered to his own soul by reminding him that it still existed and should be handled with care. Jesus knew Michonne had intimate experience with this, if his observations about Rick and his obvious tendency to make sure she was always there beside him told the traveler anything.

"Yes." He answered simply, then added: "Do _you_ , still?"

Michonne almost stopped walking, her eyes darting towards Daryl and back to him again. Jesus gazed at her unflinchingly as they walked down the hill that would lead them to his little 'cell' in the house that doubled as the makeshift Alexandria hospital. "What are you asking me?"

"I'm asking if you still care about a mutual friend. And...if you _do_...then, I'd say helping him now would only be beneficial to you both, in the end."

Michonne processed his words silently. He knew. Of course he did. This dude was way too shrewd and observant not to. The intent had been in his eyes the second he mentioned Murdock's name at their dining room table. She nodded, wary of Abraham or Daryl overhearing. "I care. About my family, this place...and I care to make sure this guy is legit."

Jesus nodded. "Good answer. I think we both know he is. But I understand, you need to find out for yourself. And you will."

Unable to help herself, Michonne asked, just as they rounded the block and saw the infirmary ahead: "What does he...look like?"

She was asking multiple things. Not merely for final confirmation of who they were talking about, but for any hint that he'd been changed by what happened to the world. Either physically or emotionally. Of course he had, but she had seen what those changes could do to people. If she saw him, and didn't recognize him because of these things, she wanted to prepare herself.

"He's tall - _way_ tall." Jesus laughed quietly, his cheeks burning red. Michonne took note of that, but didn't comment. She waited for him to continue. "Dark-skinned. Fit. He used to have dreads, like yours, but he cut them off a few weeks after the turn. Says he almost died because of them, and he isn't the same person anymore, so…" he made the scissors gesture with his gloved fingers. "He's charismatic. And he taught me how to fight. Karate. Jiu Jitsu. Among other things."

Michonne's heart was clunking around in her chest, adrenaline pumping through her as a picture of Murdock formed in her head. Yes. This had to be him. He had always kept fit, had earned a black-belt in karate and a red belt in Brazilian jiu jitsu as a young man. He had dreads, like hers, because they'd both decided to start growing them when they were in high school. All of this came rushing back to her in a tidal wave. She hadn't even seen him yet, and already she was starting to wonder how much more of this she could take. The past was licking at her heels like fire this morning.

Thankfully, she didn't have to test her limits just yet. They were within steps of the the infirmary. The two of them got quiet again as they neared the house, but Daryl had been listening to every word.

He had carefully kept his body language pre-occupied and didn't turn back to them as they'd been talking, but he had heard. It immediately raised his alarm bells. Maybe a possible reunion with some fella from her past was a good thing for Michonne, but Daryl didn't rightly know what the hell that would mean for them. Hell, he stopped kidding himself - for _Rick_. Rick's reaction could bring this whole situation to a screeching halt. Daryl knew his friend and brother figure like the back of his hand by now. Rick was not going to react well, and it would be up to Michonne to make it smooth.

Despite his general disdain for Jesus (motherfucker had almost knocked Aaron's head off with one of those karate moves of his, and sneaking around their town was upsetting and downright creepy), but the possibility of aligning with more people….Daryl found he wanted that. He had been out with Aaron hunting for them, not just supplies for fuckin' apple cobbler.

He knew that they'd need to keep Jesus at an arm's length until his story checked out. But Daryl was starting to reason with himself as he calmed down along their morning stroll that maybe finding Jesus could bring about change that Alexandria needed.

Keeping secrets with the enemy wasn't going to help them out with that, though.

He decided to confront Michonne as soon as they dropped this leather-bound asshole off at Denise and Tara's.

* * *

Daryl was gone when Carol had come downstairs this morning.

She could tell by the state of the couch palette she'd made for him that he hadn't slept - or at least, not on it. Probably dozed off on the porch. Probably brooding over her gentle rejection last night. She hadn't meant to hurt him, but what he wanted scared the shit out of her. That part of her was so buried, she winced at the thought of it coming out again. It might be ugly, it might make her weak. That was something she couldn't afford. She cared about Daryl too much to subject him to that. As much as she felt herself being pulled towards him, as much as she could feel the ghost of his hands on her skin, his breath in her face, hear his words whispered gruffly into her ear...she couldn't go there. It was too risky, for too many reasons. Her fear was her life jacket. It was warm and familiar. This other thing was stirred feelings insider her that spelled trouble.

Carol busied herself in her new kitchen, opening pantries to figure out where everything was kept, preparing to try to bake something to take her mind off of her feelings for Daryl.

She made a list of supplies she'd need to make those cookies she'd been thinking about for a few days. Acorns...beets...and other things she'd know when she saw once she visited the pantry. Cooking meals in this world was like solving a very disconcerting puzzle. Several pieces were missing, so you had to be especially clever with your ingredients. Luckily, being a housewife to a trailer park drunk who hoarded his money for booze for almost twenty years had taught her a thing or two.

On her way back from gathering the acorns, still thinking about Daryl despite herself, she saw Rick and Maggie walking together towards the Monroe house with a bit of urgency in their step. She quickly crossed the street, headed for them, her gut telling her something was up.

"Hey…" she called out, jogging to catch up, her basket of acorns swinging with her gait. "What is it, what's happening?"

Rick and Maggie stopped walking, watching her advance on them. Rick was armed and wearing his traveling jacket. Maggie looked tense, anxious, her brown eyes glinting with a million thoughts running through her head. "We've got company." She answered Carol as they three finally came together on the corner. "Says he has a community, wants to negotiate a trade."

"Jesus?" Carol supplied, causing Rick to chuckle and shake his head. Of course she already knew about Jesus. "Daryl told me last night," she confirmed when Maggie frowned at her.

"That'd be him," Rick drawled, scratching his chin and gesturing to her with his free hand. "You comin? We got things to discuss with the group."

Understanding the meaning behind his words, Carol nodded slowly, their eyes locked on each other's. They weren't going to just discuss the Jesus situation, she knew. It was time to talk about the Wolf in the basement. Feeling hollow in her stomach (which had nothing to do with not eating yet), Carol followed them to the house without another word.


	8. all in favor

**More plot than smut.**

 **But please trust - everything here is here for a reason. Buckle your seat belts...**

* * *

 _love?_

 _love is a verb_

 _love is a_ _ **doing**_ _word_

-Massive Attack, 'Teardrop'

* * *

Rick, Carol, and Maggie made their way to the Monroe house in silence.

They were all lost in thought, tense for different reasons.

Though Rick could still feel Michonne's lips against his, and hear her soft, smooth voice confirming how she felt about him, he could not shake an anxious feeling. He alternated between staring at his boots and glancing around at the homes they passed under the sun rays, watching after the neighbors. The town was peaceful this morning; it was Sunday. He usually liked Sundays. He slept in; so did everyone. He had been looking forward to spending the morning with Michonne and the kids...but now he had to go into unknown territory, hoping to make some kind of blind deal that could potentially keep his community fed for years to come.

Or turn out to be another Terminus. The weight of it was enough to make him exhausted already, and it hadn't even broken eight o'clock yet. He was grateful to his son for making coffee.

The last two nights had been intense, and addictive, and even though he was focused on doing what he had to do, Rick wanted more than anything right now to be back in bed with Michonne. Her pensiveness before she left to escort Jesus back to the infirmary was linked to this anxious feeling in his gut. They'd just come out of the other side of a whirlwind, she and him. He hoped he hadn't pushed her too much - asking her to have a child with him, forcing her to talk about losing hers. Shit. Thinking back on it, he kicked himself for never even asking about that part of her past. And bringing it up _now_ , on a morning when it turned out that they'd have to go into potentially hostile territory. It wasn't exactly a question, though, that he could ask during a game they played in bed.

He'd make up for it, he determined as they walked down the hill, his boots sliding across the sidewalk under the warming sun. Somehow. He also couldn't help feeling there was something else Michonne wasn't telling him. She was trying to hide how much she wanted this. He just couldn't figure out why. He _knew_ she wanted this. He could see how instantly she seemed to respond to Jesus. It was risky, but he could never resist Michonne. Her hope was contagious. That had become increasingly true the longer he knew her, and now?

Hell, he didn't stand a chance.

She had been right about this place, so he would have to hope she was right about Jesus, and the Hilltop.

They made it to the house and Rick allowed the ladies in first, glancing around to make sure the town was still asleep, straining to see down the hill to make sure Tara was at her post in the guard tower.

She was there. All was quiet. Satisfied, Rick turned and stepped inside last, closing the door behind him.

* * *

 _About an hour ago..._

Jessie crept out of bed, making sure that Sam was sound asleep (and sleeping peacefully), and tiptoed downstairs to make coffee and make plans.

She pulled her hair back and splashed cold water on her face from the kitchen sink. Feeling better, Jessie starting making coffee, her mind buzzing as the sun settled in the sky above her silent house.

She wanted to prove herself, but how? Well, she could start by eating a big, sour slice of humble pie. Jessie sighed as she got the coffee maker going. Rick wanted her to work as a nurse. Fine. If the group all agreed, she'd just have to do it and shut up about it.

But that wasn't all she could do. There was something she could ask for - something she'd been too tipsy to remember to ask for last night. She'd ask for it now. Making up her mind, Jessie walked over and opened the blinds in the kitchen window a little wider, wanting to feel the morning sun on her face.

She glanced down at the street and saw Daryl, Glenn, Abraham, and Maggie sprinting past her house.

She knew they were headed for Rick's place, and her heart sped up as she lifted herself to her tiptoes over the sink and craned her neck to see. They were armed and they were not wasting time.

They disappeared from sight, and she slowly lowered herself flat on her feet again, her mind racing.

Something was going on. Something big. Part of her wanted to go and find out what, but part of her also knew that she needed to be careful. Carol was wrong. She wasn't stupid. And she wasn't going to be weak for too much longer. Sam _was_ her priority. And Sam needed her to be strong. The only way she was going to do that was to take her time, do this right.

Do it like Carol would. And something told Jessie - Carol would take her time.

Jessie made her coffee and quickly took a shower, working out what she wanted to say at the group meeting later (if it was even going to happen, now). She'd just accept their decision, but plead her case. Ask for what she wanted.

Fifteen minutes later, she went into Sam's room after getting dressed in clean jeans and her plaid button-down shirt. She kept her hair up, not wanting to look any more a mess than they all thought she was.

She picked out some clean clothes for him - she'd already drawn him a bath and today he was _going_ to take one, she had resolved. No more letting him do whatever he wanted. She'd be gentle, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. They were going to have to make changes if they were going to get through this.

She finally woke Sam up, kissing him on the forehead as his eyes fluttered open. "Hey, bud," she whispered, crouching down to eye level and leaning against her folded arms, close. She wanted him to see that she was sober and focused solely on him. "What do you say to some breakfast and a bath, huh? For me?"

For a second, Sam remained silent, his eyes flickering from hers and over to that corner by the window again. " _Sam_." She said a little louder this time, and as firmly as she could without scaring him.

He came back to her, hesitated, and finally nodded. Jessie beamed at him, relieved. She decided to push a little further, stroking his hair.

"Bath first, okay?"

"But…" Sam tried to protest, and she already knew he was going to. He always did. And it always turned out the same. Usually, she just gave in, too exhausted and withdrawn from her grief to put up a fight.

Not today.

" _Yes_ , baby. Bath first, or you're going to eat and pretend like you're sleepy or you're sick, and then you'll lock yourself in this room all day again." Her voice quivered with emotion as she spoke, but she didn't stop stroking his hair. She shook her head at him, looking him right in the eyes. "We're not doing that today. You be strong for me today and maybe we can do that tomorrow, but _not today_ , okay Sam?"

He sighed and nodded slowly. "Okay, Mom."

She almost burst into tears again, but they weren't going to do _that_ today, either.

He took his bath by himself, but she sat outside the door just in case he called for her. Then he got dressed and to her relief, came out of his room looking like a different kid. Her Sam. He was going to come back to her, she was determined.

As she was watching him eat the last of their oatmeal (Ron had snagged it when Heath found it in a bomb shelter a few weeks before all this shit went down - her heart lurched), she heard commotion outside.

"Let's get him down there quick, before folks start to wake up." Daryl's raspy drawl was unmistakable.

Swallowing down her sadness before it had a chance to threaten her, Jessie kissed Sam on the head and stood up from the kitchen island. She walked across to the window and carefully closed the blinds to slits before peering out to the street again.

She saw Daryl passing by, followed by Michonne and...some guy. He was dressed in leather and he had a full beard. Abraham took up their rear, carrying his AK across his pelvis. _What was going on?_ Jessie watched them pass, homing in on the bearded man in the leather trench coat. Was _he_ the Wolf?

Couldn't be. He was clean and calm, and there was something almost kind in his soft blue eyes...eyes that suddenly looked up and caught hers. Even though she knew she had closed the blinds enough that they wouldn't be able to see her, somehow this guy was looking right at her. He only smiled faintly, offering a barely perceptible nod of greeting. Then just as suddenly he looked forward again, walking side-by-side with Michonne.

"What is it, Mom?" Sam called softly from his perch on a stool at the island, startling her from her fixation. She turned to face him. He was just sitting there, watching her with the last bite of his oatmeal perched on the spoon in his hand.

"Um, it just looks like I'm gonna be late for my meeting with Spencer and the other leaders this morning, that's all, bud." She hedged, returning to him and stroking his hair again. "You want to go hang out with Carl for a bit?"

Sam considered her, looking as though he wanted to protest - to beg off going anywhere and be allowed to retreat to his room again. Jessie prepared herself to argue, and to win. But instead, he said:

"You want me to try...right? That's why you're acting different?"

Jessie stared into his eyes, which weren't so glazed over with detachment and sadness anymore. He really wanted to know. She took a deep breath and tried to be as honest as possible. "Sam. We're not pretending anymore. Yes, baby, I _do_ want you to try. But _I_ have to try too. That's how this works."

He nodded, still staring at her. She could see him processing the information in his head.

"Why do you have to go to a meeting?"

Okay, one more round of truth and reasoning. "I asked Rick for a job, remember? Something to get me out of bed, out of the house. They're gonna take a vote, and assign me one. And hopefully, you're next."

"A _job_? What could _I_ do?" It broke her heart, how little he believed in himself; in his ability to be happy and normal again; useful, brave, _anything_ other than afraid and alone and in pain. Her poor child was more than traumatized; he was devastatingly changed. She hoped she wasn't too late to bring him back to himself, even just a little.

Jessie shrugged. "Anything you want to. Just as long as it's not staying stuck in your room all day, Sam." She squeezed his shoulder, gesturing to his now cold spoonful of oatmeal. "Why don't you finish up and I'll take you over? Maybe Carl can help you figure it out today, what do you say?"

Sam stared at his oatmeal for a beat, then nodded as he looked up into her eyes again, resembling his two-year-old self. He used to be the sweetest, happiest little boy. He was attached to her hip as a toddler, following her everywhere. Pete didn't like it; saying over and over again that it would make him weak, make him a 'mama's boy.' She hated his fucking guts for the damage he'd caused to their children, and to her. But he was dead and buried now. If there was one thing she honestly couldn't hold against Rick, it was blowing a hole in Pete's face the night he killed Reg.

"Okay, mom. I'll try."

Jessie smiled happily and kissed the top of her son's head as he spooned the last of his oatmeal into his mouth.

When she dropped him off at the Grimes house, Carl opened the door for them holding Judith. His eyes darted around to the road, a little surprised, before he smiled at her and waved at Sam.

"Hey, Mrs. Anderson. Hey, Sam."

The kid's voice was deeper than ever, and he was growing up to be as handsome as his father. Jessie pushed down a heavy pang of sorrow at the realization that her boy Ron would now never, ever make it past Carl's age. It was quickly followed up by jealousy that Sam no longer had a big brother to show him the way, like Judith did. Still, she pressed on. She could process that pain later. She needed to get to that meeting right now.

"It's still just Jessie. Sorry to bother you so early, Carl. Is your dad or Michonne home?" She knew they weren't - she'd already seen Michonne leaving with that strange man, and heard Maggie and Rick's voices passing by outside as she was cleaning up their breakfast stuff - but this was part of being careful, being smarter.

Carl shook his head, his ever-present sheriff's hat casting a shadow over his blue eyes that made him look like a character in an apocalyptic graphic novel. God, what was it with this family and dramatic optics? Everything the Grimes family did was intense, and powerful, and full of fierce intent. No wonder they ended up taking over this place in less than a fortnight. In the sober light of day, she didn't hate what they brought to the table so much - she envied it. She coveted it. She wanted to do the same; _be_ the same; project the same power and confidence that they did.

"They went to take care of somethin' up at the Monroe house. Not sure when they'll be back."

"I guess he beat me to it, then."Jessie forced an embarrassed smile, hoping it projected the right _silly old me, running late again_ attitude. "We were supposed to meet there to talk about putting me to work." Carl frowned - this was his first time hearing this - but said nothing as Jessie smiled down at Judith, playing with her little fingers. She stepped back and ushered a silent Sam to the threshold by the shoulders. "Would you mind hanging out with Sam for a bit while I go find out my fate? I heard Carol moved out yesterday, by the way; did you get her room?"

"No problem - and yeah. Pretty much as soon as she was packed. Just waiting for Enid." Carl smirked and greeted Sam with a tip of his hat as he hoisted Judith against his hip. He stepped aside to let the younger boy in. "I got _Marvel Versus D.C._ goin' already, if you wanna try me out, Sam. Bet I could beat you with _anybody_ , even the shitty characters. Your pick."

Sam thought for a moment. "What about Aquaman? I'll be Hawkeye."

"Pffft, too easy. Loser washes the breakfast dishes. Deal?" Carl offered him a low five and Sam actually smiled.

"Deal." He gave Carl five, his soft smile broadening.

Both Jessie and Carl were pleased to see that Sam looked excited about something for the first time in a very long time as he stepped past his older neighbor. Carl didn't mind hanging out with Sam. He thought he kind of owed it to Ron to look out for him as much as he could - it was the least he could do since failing to reach them before the walkers took his big brother. He knew the trauma all too well, thinking back to his mother, and Sophia, and Shane, and Dale, and Hershel, and Beth, and Noah, and on and on and on. Carl thought he could easily have ended up in Ron's boat, if his dad wasn't who he was, if he hadn't gone through _exactly_ what he did.

"Thanks. I really appreciate this," Jessie told him earnestly, rustling Sam's hair.

"Come back soon, Mom." Sam said as she backed up. He was trying, she knew, so she had to try too. She'd make this quick and get back to her son.

"I promise I'll be back as soon as I can. I love you, be good, bud."

"It's cool, Jessie. I got it." Carl said reassuringly, his bright eyes conveying confidence and empathy.

Jessie paused before turning to go, staring at Carl. She thought of her other, dead boy. Her beautiful, sad Ron. How Carl fought to save him and Sam. How they were practically the same height, practically the same age, and how lucky Rick and Michonne were to have Carl. She found herself hoping against hope that Carl would rub off on Sam. Then she found herself reaching up to kiss Carl on the forehead.

"Thank you, Carl...thank you." She whispered, unable to stop herself.

Carl nodded slowly, but remained silent, patting a fussy Judith on her little back.

His eyes were so impossibly mature. She didn't know every detail of the things he'd been through; the things that had created the world-weary, wise-beyond-his-years stillness in this fifteen-year-old's eyes. But she envied Rick (and Michonne) that, too.

He and Sam stood in the doorway, watching as Jessie got hold of her emotions and left them - walking briskly down the street, headed for the Monroe house.

* * *

Enid woke up early, floating up to the sunrise from a dream about Carl.

She wished, with unexpected longing, that he was here, beside her. That she could turn over and watch him sleeping. He always slept with his mouth open, his soft lips parted and his long, dark lashes fluttering against some dream or other. She thought he was kinda handsome when he was awake, so serious and responsible all the time...but when he was sleeping, he looked so young, and he was more beautiful than anything. She would never dare tell him that; he'd probably just make fun of her.

Enid sighed, stretching and rising slowly, missing Carl and getting hungry.

She brushed her teeth, washed her face, brushed her hair, and dressed in her usual. As she was combing through the kitchen shelves, looking for something to eat, she realized that the house was silent as a grave.

Enid suddenly became anxious and stopped what she was doing. She turned around and listened. Then she started to think, her heart pounding. Spencer was on watch by the south side of the gates, that was his schedule. Where was Maggie? Glenn? Maybe still out crying over those non-existent crops. Maggie was determined - she rose early and stayed out all day. Glenn was getting worried about her, so he went out there with her sometimes if he wasn't on the wall crew. Enid couldn't blame him. This world wasn't exactly a great place for pregnant ladies.

Relaxing a bit, Enid started to feel guilty. She cared about Maggie a lot. She had finally admitted that to Carl the other night. She should do her part, help Glenn watch after her. They had taken her in - Glenn had practically dragged her back here. And Enid had to admit she was grateful. One of the hardest parts of leaving had been walking away from Carl for good. At the time, she thought she was doing them both a favor. Now, she was grateful to Glenn for making her come back. He had brought her back to Carl, and Carl gave her something she hadn't had in a long time. Hope. And responsibility. She wanted to be like him. She'd better start trying.

Maybe she'd go out there with Glenn and Maggie today before she trained with Carl.

Making up her mind, Enid finally found some stale Rice Crispy cereal and stuffed her hand into the box, pulling out a handful and stuffing that into her face. She chewed thoughtfully for a while, tracing ' _just survive somehow'_ onto the linoleum of the kitchen counter, staring off into space. Sometimes, when she was alone, and she stopped for a minute, she was back there in her parents' useless car, watching walkers rip them both to bloody, unrecognizable pieces. Carl helped her avoid it these days, but when he wasn't around, she was always in danger of going back there.

Suddenly she heard heavy footsteps across the porch, and a second later the front door unlocked and opened. "Glenn went to go get Spencer, I think…"

It was Maggie, and Enid jumped out of her stupor, leaving the stale cereal and rushing toward the door.

Maggie, Carol - and shortly after, Rick - came storming in. "Enid. Is Glenn or Spencer here?" Maggie asked, running a hand through her hair as Rick closed the door and peered out of the little window next to it before turning to face the room. They were all armed and looking serious.

It took Enid a second to respond; she tore her gaze away from Mr. Grimes and his cold blue eyes and focused on Maggie. "No, everyone's gone. What's going on, Maggie?"

"I don't think she should be here," Carol said softly before Maggie could reply, glancing at Enid as she passed her toward the living room.

Maggie frowned, watching Enid, and Rick shifted on his feet, squinting after Carol.

"What? I'm not going anywhere." Enid spoke up, annoyed with Carol's dismissiveness. She was such a bitch sometimes. "I'm not some stupid kid, you know."

Carol scoffed and looked at Rick.

So did Enid. Rick's blue eyes shifted to hers and he sighed as they softened, somewhat. She could tell he had stuff on his mind, but he chose to focus on her just now, and he said even kinda nicely: "Actually, Carl sent for you, Enid. We had an intruder - nobody's hurt, don't worry - but he wanted to make sure you were okay." He gestured to her earnestly, tilting his head. "He's watchin' Judith so I was hoping you'd go reassure him for me. Help him babysit? I'd appreciate it."

Enid was totally taken off guard by how cordial he was being. Maybe even slightly creeped out by it. But she was also relieved. She found that she wanted Carl's dad to like her. It seemed like he was making an effort (she knew that could only be because of Carl, and it made her love him even more), so she would, too. Sighing, she nodded. "Okay. Sure."

Enid turned her attention to Maggie before she made any moves, though.

"You okay?" She asked earnestly.

Maggie smiled, reaching out to squeeze Enid's hand. "I'm fine, thanks. Go on."

Enid grabbed her bag from the floor in the entryway and left the house without another word. She didn't know what was up, but she bet Carl would. Besides, she wasn't exactly eager to be around that group when shit was hitting the fan. She'd rather be with Carl - he was always so calm, it calmed her down, too.

She already couldn't wait to see his gorgeous blue eyes.

* * *

Daryl stared at the note Jesus had left for Denise, written on the back of the one Daryl had left for him.

' _ **No worries, just out for a stroll.**_

 _ **Thanks for patching me up.**_

 _ **And for the cookie.**_

 _ **See you again soon,**_

 _ **-Jesus'**_

He sighed hard, folding it up in his big hand and tossing it in the trash. They were securing Jesus again, but Denise wanted to look him over one more time to make sure she hadn't missed anything while he was unconscious. Daryl thought that was ridiculous, but Denise was the doc. Jesus was just sitting there, that stupid ' _I don't give a fuck'_ smile still fixed on his face as the doc shined a light in his eyes.

Daryl darted _his_ eyes to Michonne, who was leaned against the wall, watching Jesus. He needed to talk to her. He could see what looked like hard thoughts and distant memories clouding her expression as she leaned there with her arms crossed. Daryl wanted to know exactly who Murdock was to her, and what they could expect from him. Rick would, too - especially that first part. He knew Michonne was pretty straight up, but the look of her now told him her resolve was still percolating, and they didn't have time for that.

"My compliments to the chef." Jesus said as Denise checked his right eye.

Daryl turned back to him, frowning. "What?"

"The cookie?" The man lifted his eyebrows and blinked rapidly once Denise was done. "It was good. Thank you."

"Yeah, I didn't make it." Daryl grunted. "She ain't here."

"Speaking of which," Michonne uttered from her leaning post, reminded of Carol and the others. She needed to talk to Rick. "We should be getting back."

"He good to go?" Daryl asked, also anxious to get this over with.

Denise nodded, adjusting her glasses and gesturing to Jesus with a shrug. "Yeah, he's pretty healthy, actually. No signs of a concussion, your weight is good, your reflexes...it's like you just...went vegan instead of scrambling to survive the end of the world, right?" She snorted at her corny joke, but quickly cleared her throat to mask it, nodding vigorously again at Daryl. "But, yes. My official prognosis: he's fit as a fiddle."

"Thanks…" Daryl said, staring at her. She was an odd one, kinda goofy, but she meant well and she was the only medical mind they had. He didn't mind her so much when she stopped herself from going off on one of her rambling tangents.

"Taking care of yourself improves your chances of staying alive against an impressive number of threats." Jesus gave Denise a slight, gracious bow. "Also, we have a doctor at the Hilltop. Doctor Elizabeth Corday. Lizzy to most of us. She was one of the best surgeons in Washington before the world got sick. We're lucky to have her." He turned to gaze at Michonne. "If we can align with each other, _you'll_ be lucky to have her, too."

"Oh wow...that would be…" Denise breathed, hope and probably a thousand different questions flashing through her large, kind eyes.

"We ain't come to no agreement yet," Daryl barked, jerking his chin to the direction of the hallway that would lead them to the back utility room, where he was to be held again. "So let's git, come on."

The smooth talking stranger glanced at Michonne, his blue eyes searching hers. She frowned at him, letting him know that it was time to go. Jesus nodded, rolling up his sleeves and standing from the examination table. He took his coat from Denise and walked stoically past Daryl and Abraham, where they escorted them down the hall and into the back room.

"See you soon…" He said to them as they closed the door on him and locked him inside. Then he leaned against the wall, his eyes closed in meditation.

Now came the part where his patience would get its real test.

"Alright, let's haul ass, I don't wanna miss this." Abraham declared as he charged through the door, his gun slung across his broad shoulder and his toothpick bobbing in his mouth.

"Hey - hold up, Michonne." Daryl said under his breath as they followed him out onto the sidewalk and were walking down the street again. She slowed her pace, squinting over at him.

He was glancing at her from behind his hair, and she already knew what he wanted. Cursing herself for getting so caught up in her conversation with Jesus, Michonne sighed and looked straight ahead again. She waited for Daryl to ask his questions as they followed Abraham back up the hill towards the Monroe house.

"You gotta tell Rick." Daryl said simply, quietly.

"I know."

"Who is he to you?" Her sullen friend asked her after a few steps. Again, he didn't have to elaborate for her to catch his meaning. He was asking after Murdock, the name that had her preoccupied since Jesus's arrival.

Michonne frowned, shaking her head. It had been so damned long since she thought about Murdock. Lanky, sweet little Murdock back in the day. Who grew up to be a handsome, charismatic, hard-working young man that swept her off her feet. They were the best of friends. They stuck together through everything - practically all the milestones of school, growing up poor and black and immigrant, and so much more - but when they drifted apart, there was nothing but mostly affable silence between them. He had never even met Andre. And then...the world ended.

Currently, she didn't know who Murdock was to her. Their pasts were connected, yes, but beyond that she had no idea what to expect from him when she saw him again. Hearing Jesus talk about how kind and protective he was of his community had been reassuring, but as far as _she and him_ were concerned, there was just no telling. All she had of Murdock was a head full of memories - memories that had started assaulting her the moment Jesus uttered his name and were showing no signs of slowing down.

"I don't know yet. I'm hoping he'll end up being a friend, like he was before - to all of us."

"That what you plan on tellin' Rick?"

Michonne stopped walking and faced him, ignoring Abraham, who didn't seem to notice them lagging behind. "What's on your mind, Daryl?" she said stiffly, raising her chin at him somewhat defiantly.

Daryl blinked, stepping back a bit. Their conversations usually went pretty easy; he considered Michonne a good friend, someone who understood him and didn't judge him. But she was also just as strong-willed and unabashed as Carol was, and he could sense that she was feeling sensitive about this whole thing. That wasn't exactly a good sign. He decided to forget treading carefully and just come right out and say it. She clearly already knew what was on his mind, he could tell by the look on her face as she squinted at him expectantly.

"If Jesus ain't full of shit, and this turns out to _be_ somethin', the last fuckin' thang we need is for Rick to fly off and beat Murdock's ass because'a somethin' you ain't tellin' him."

He shrugged, letting her see in his face that he wasn't accusing her of anything. But he had to be blunt.

Michonne took a beat to let his words sink in, and finally, she nodded in silent agreement.

"Murdock's my past. Rick is my here and now - my future. It's as simple as that, Daryl."

Daryl fiddled with his fingers as he read her expression. She was straight up, that was one of the things he liked about her. He nodded, too, satisfied. "You know what you're doin', then."

"I'll tell Rick everything I know. Which, at the moment...isn't much that can help us."

"Well, what you want outta this?"

She considered him. "More people, that's what I want. Good people. People like us."

"You think we'll find 'em at this Hilltop place?" Daryl asked, the tension gone between them as they quickly caught up with Abraham up the hill.

"Yeah. Don't you?" She turned the tables on him, watching for his answer as they rounded the corner and the house came into view ahead of them. Abraham was already jogging up the steps.

"Come on, slow pokes!" he called as he knocked on the door and went inside.

"Yeah. I do." Daryl answered her as they paused at the gate.

Michonne smiled at him, using Rick's customary declaration for when they had hard work to do before leading him inside: "Well, let's go get it done."

* * *

The group was assembled in the living room of the Monroe house, forming a circle around the big sitting area.

Rick had recounted what happened in his kitchen with Jesus for Spencer, and now they were gonna take a vote. Michonne stood behind the couch next to Daryl, adjacent to Rick, who was in his customary spot at the fire place. He was flanked by Maggie and Spencer. Carol stood across from him by Reg's old chair, her arms crossed and her face pensive. Abraham was perched in Rick's window from the party the other night, alternating between peering out of it and listening in on what everyone was saying.

Glenn stood next to Maggie, staring at the floor, thinking.

"This is simple," Rick began in his unhurried, deep tenor. "We go in eyes open, ready for anythin'. But if Jesus is tellin' the truth…" He dipped his head, licking his lips and raising his eyebrows with something like optimism. "We have to check it out. We owe it to the survival of our community. Our way of life."

He looked around the room again, making sure he had everyone's full attention and understanding. He paused on Michonne, and she gave him a tiny nod, her eyes large, round, and supportive. It made him feel better, a little less tense, and he continued, shifting on his feet.

"So we put it to a vote, right now. We don't go in unless we all agree. All in favor?"

"Well, goddamned _aye…_ " Abraham lifted his mustachioed chin in the affirmative. "Let's do this."

Rick couldn't help a slight smile, nodding his acknowledgement before turning back to the room. "Anyone else?"

"Yes." Maggie said resolutely, lifting her eyes to Rick's. "I'm gettin' nowhere out there. I need to see what kind of operation they're runnin'; _how_ they're growing. I need this or we won't even make it to the next winter." She sighed and reached for Glenn, who woke up from his revelry and took her hand to squeeze it supportively. "So, that's a yes for me."

"Me, too." Glenn added quietly, having made up his mind the second Maggie did.

Rick nodded, feeling that weight of responsibility again. At least, this time, Maggie, Glenn, and Michonne were trying to make it so he wouldn't have to bear it alone. He appreciated that, despite his disquiet about potentially risking their safety. Everyone in this room - save Spencer, who still hadn't exactly proved himself yet, as far as Rick was concerned - knew what they were up against, day in and day out, keeping this community safe, fed, and running.

"We need the numbers, man…" Daryl spoke up next to Michonne, shifting on his feet. "This dude's trained, he can fight. Maybe some o'their others can, too."

"Or they could be trained, just like anybody." Michonne added, her eyes locked on Rick's. He took this in and agreed. "It could be a _real_ alliance."

"And Jesus said there were other groups." Maggie cut in. "Two more somewhere. He's right. This is big."

"I say hell yes, then." Daryl said, biting his lip and shrugging. "Let's go up there, see what we can see."

"Me too, I'm in." Michonne agreed smoothly.

Rick dipped his head at her in deference, and he couldn't help lingering to gaze at her, his hand on his holster. They were going to do this, together. She knew he had reservations, and he knew _she_ had plenty of hope. They balanced each other out, and Rick realized suddenly: that was _exactly_ it. She was his balance, she had been ever since she revealed to him that she could _see_ him - losing his mind, barely holding it together, retreating into himself despite all his responsibility. She began to pull him back to himself even then, and he had come to depend on that exact ability of hers to sway him like the wind. She was swaying him in the direction of the Hilltop. He would go. There were a lot of reasons to, but this one hit closest to home for Rick. His family. Michonne, Carl, Judith...and hopefully, one day…

"What about this Murdock guy?" Carol spoke up before offering her vote. She could see Rick and Michonne doing their silent communication thing and wanted to break it up to ask the question no one seemed to remember. "What do we know about him?"

Both Rick and Michonne broke their gaze on each other to look at Carol's pale, pensive face.

"She's right," Spencer spoke up for the first time since he walked through the door. He looked torn. A little nervous; resistant. This would be his first big test as a leader. "Who is this guy?"

But they asked a good question. Rick gestured to nothing in particular as he answered: "Jesus says he's good. We should be able to negotiate with him. Says he wants that." He shrugged, knowing how it sounded and that they would of course have to wait and see. But he wanted to reassure Spencer, throw him a bone. He decided then not to bring him along. Maggie would handle the politics in hostile territory a lot better, his gut told him.

"He _is_ good." Michonne answered both Spencer and Rick confidently, though her voice was low and full of something that made Rick turn abruptly from Deanna's son to look at her. Daryl was also looking at her. She kept her eyes on Rick, but she could still feel Daryl's gaze from behind the veil of his fine, dark hair.

She'd been waiting for the opportunity to do what they'd discussed, and this was it.

"At least...he was."

Rick frowned at Michonne, once again unable to recognize her expression. And again, he also realized, this change was brought on by the mention of the man in charge at Hilltop - Murdock.

"What's that mean?" Carol said quietly, recognizing (as did Rick) that she wasn't just guessing. Something in her voice told them she already knew this. Or...Carol squinted at Michonne as realization hit. "Do you know him?"

Everyone in the room was now staring at her, waiting.

Michonne's eyes flickered toward Carol, but went right back to Rick as she nodded and sighed. "Yeah. I know him."

Rick was stunned. He took a step back as this unexpected revelation sank in. Okay. So this was news. He swallowed thickly and tried not to overreact. He would let her finish - this guy could just be someone she'd run into while she was out in the open alone. Still, somethin' in him knew that wasn't true. Just by the look in her eyes. It was more than that. They stared at each other. Even though Michonne was addressing the room, she only had eyes for Rick. She was speaking to _Rick_. And he was damned sure listening.

"His name's Murdock Gillette." She began, her voice sharp, and yet somehow softer than he'd ever heard it. "We grew up together…we hadn't spoken in years before everything happened." Her voice wavered as she stared at him, and he was transfixed. She looked as though the memories were crashing through her right then, with every word, and yet also as though she were intentionally pushing them back to focus on Rick. "I thought he was dead, but…I think maybe this _is_ him..." and then it really was a whisper, and he could tell - she was fighting off tears.

Without hesitation, Rick walked closer to her, ignoring the other people in the room. He made it around the couch and in front of her and Daryl in a few long strides. She watched him coming, swallowing down her emotion.

Daryl stepped back to give them some space, coming to a leaning position against the wall behind him. He watched. Waited. They all did.

Rick's heart was pounding and his mind was reeling but he clamped down on his feelings and concentrated on finding Michonne's gaze again. Their eyes met, and he stood very close to her, lowering his face to hers, imploring her with his body language to please tell him what he could do in that moment to keep her pain from overwhelming her. And it _was_ pain, he could see it. His curiosity about this guy, and who he was to Michonne, tripled in size and made his chest stiffen. So many questions about her past assaulted his mind at once. He couldn't help uttering raspily: "You _knew_ him?"

She didn't cry. Instead, she sighed softly, also ignoring their audience (everyone, including Abraham, was riveted), and reached up to grip him by the belt of his gun holster, her knuckles grazing the hem of his white tee-shirt. She always felt tethered to him but right now she needed physical contact. Even just this. In that moment, they both felt a gargantuan desire to be closer - she wanted to pull him forward, and he wanted her to - but they held themselves back to spare the group.

"Yes. Knew him well. For a long time. I wanted to tell you, but I had to be sure first." She said softly, only to him. Everyone was listening, however. She stared up into his crystal clear eyes, searching for some sign that he was okay. He nodded slightly, his gaze flickering to her hand on his belt. When he swallowed and let his eyes rise to hers again, she knew he was making an effort to be, for her. She'd give the group the important details now, but they were going to talk later, just the two of them. She could see it in his eyes. That was okay. She wanted that. She took a deep breath and plowed on. "I questioned Jesus, and I'm pretty sure now. It's my Murdock. I don't know how much he's changed, or if he'll even be glad to see me, but...it could be an advantage for us. We could play this."

Rick frowned, first at the way she referenced him - 'my Murdock' - and then at the end of her statement. He searched her eyes, and was surprised to see that she was serious. He took in a deep breath and let it out through his nostrils, his jaw clenching as he assessed her words, thinking of the many implications of that statement. She squeezed his belt. Rick focused on her again, and he nodded his acquiescence.

"Alright. We'll talk to him." He said coolly, his eyes glinting at her. Rick stepped back and she dropped her hand from his belt as he turned to face the room again. He looked from Carol to Spencer. "Michonne knows him. If she says he's worth talkin' to, that's what we'll do."

Michonne watched the side of her old man's face, knowing that he was feeling some type of way about everything she'd just confessed - and feeling her heart swell as she realized that he was setting that aside to follow her lead. He was so loyal to her; he really did trust her more than anyone, and at this moment she felt so much love for him that it was hard for her to refocus on the matter at hand. He stood there with his hands on his belt, projecting confidence and patience. Rick looked like _the_ leader in the room at that moment, and this was exactly how it was supposed to be. Their agreement was to do this together, and sometimes that meant one of them had to step in and take the reigns when the situation called for it. That had always been her condition while talking with Maggie, Glenn, Spencer, and sometimes Carol about taking control of Alexandria's future. Rick didn't have to lead all the time - hell, he didn't want to - but he knew what he was doing when it came to their protection, their survival. They had to trust him, not fear him. This wouldn't work if they feared him.

"So, I'll ask again: Are you with us, or not?"

Spencer stared at him, but eventually nodded. Rick turned to Carol.

"Yeah." Carol agreed, watching Michonne.

Then her eyes swept to Rick's, and he knew what she was going to say before she said it. He had intended to bring it up himself, as gently as he could, but this was Carol after all. He didn't know she was partially doing it to spare Michonne. Whatever this Murdock guy was to her, it didn't mean anything if he couldn't help them with the situation in the basement.

"There's somethin' else we need to discuss," she began, standing up straight. Daryl's eyes immediately latched onto her small, sturdy form and he stopped biting his thumb, watching her. "The night of the herd...I...found one of those monsters. One of those Wolves...alive. He still is. So, I kept him. Here."

"You _what_?" Glenn uttered, looking from her to Rick in shocked confusion.

" _What_ fuckin' Wolf?" Abraham demanded from the window.

Rick stared at Carol, noticing that she left out what she'd done to Morgan. He contemplated this for a few seconds, lowering his gaze, before turning to Glenn. "Yeah. There _is_ a Wolf - possibly one of their leaders - chained up in the basement of a brownstone on Canton."

Everyone (save Daryl and Michonne) reacted to the news, immediately asking questions. Abraham stood up and made to head for the door, reaching for his AK, but Rick barked at him to stay put. Spencer stepped into the middle of the room, his eyes darting from Rick to Carol. "And what the hell are we supposed to do with him?"

Rick squinted at him as though that was obvious. "There are more of 'em still out there. He could be our key to findin' them."

"Are you crazy?" Spencer tore his eyes from Carol to meet Rick's head on. Rick was impressed with his fortitude, but he had no plans to lose his cool - yet. "You're worried about what some guy called Jesus would do to us, but you're totally fuckin' cool with _her_ keeping a psycho cannibal in our neighborhood for _weeks_?"

"Hey, man, calm down. Let's at least hear them out." Glenn interjected, stepping forward to form a bridge between the two men.

"Morgan died to save his life. I didn't have a choice!" Carol hissed, biting her lip to keep her anger and anguish at bay. Daryl took a step forward too, his eyes never having left her since she started. He would be at her side in a second if she needed it. All she had to do was look at him.

"Are you hearin' her? She didn't have a choice, man." He growled at Spencer, unable to keep the rough, defensive edge from his voice. "Now quit stallin' and let's figure out what the fuck to do about it."

Rick had lowered his head to listen to Daryl, and now his eyes rose to Spencer again. He shrugged, still playing it cool. "Why don't you suggest somethin'?"

Spencer scoffed, but upon looking around the room, he noticed that everyone was waiting. Michonne crossed her arms, thinking that this ought to be good. Spencer sighed, conceding. "We should probably question him."

"Good idea…" Rick agreed, unable to keep the sarcasm from his tone.

The younger man shook his head and squared his shoulders. "What do you want from me, man? You're right, okay? There could be more of them out there, and it's our responsibility to make sure they don't get back in _here_. I get it. In fact, why don't you let me question him? I'll do it right now."

Rick exchanged glances with Carol and shifted on his feet. He gestured to the rug covering the hardwood floor under his boots and gathered all of his patience. "I appreciate that, Spencer, but...I think we should wait."

"Why?" Maggie asked, more curious about Rick's reasoning than she was trying to defend Spencer.

"He's sick," Carol spoke up in answer, and everyone turned to her again except Rick and Spencer. They remained staring at each other, and Rick let his annoyance and distrust show in his eyes now. "He got injured and it's pretty obviously infected. He's too weak to interrogate."

"Fine. So we patch him up and I'll talk to him." This kid was not backing down. There was heavy silence in the room. Spencer looked as though something was slowly dawning on him. "Oh. But you don't really mean 'interrogate', do you?" Deanna's son gritted, glaring at Rick. "You mean torture."

It was Rick's turn to scoff.

"That's what you do, right, Rick?" Spencer continued, pushing his luck as though he was a daredevil staring over the edge of a cliff. "You don't want me to talk to him, because your way is so much more effective, right? A lot bloodier, a lot more gruesome - but hey, whatever works, _right_?"

"Spencer, stop talking." Michonne said quietly, trying to spare the kid. Maggie's eyes met Michonne's. They both knew what was coming next.

Rick waited for things to settle down again before he spoke. "That's right." His voice was calm, but firm. His eyes were razor sharp. He held one hand on his holster, and gestured slowly with the other. He was done playing nice, now. He loved Maggie, and he trusted Glenn, but they needed to get somethin' straight about the conditions of his agreement to this co-leadership arrangement, before any of them left this room.

"I'll tell you what: _Carol_ will make sure he gets patched up. _We're_ going to the Hilltop." He tilted his head at Spencer, wanting no minced words in what he was about to say next. "You'll stay here - watch over him, make sure no one in the community goes near him. You _don't_ talk to him, you _don't_ question him, you don't give _anythin'_ about this place away." Spencer closed his mouth and swallowed hard, looking defiant but not saying a word. "And when we come back... _I_ will question him. Torture him, break both his arms and legs, cut off his fingers - do whatever I deem necessary for the protection of our people."

No one spoke as Rick stepped closer to Spencer. Even though the younger man was taller, Rick's presence was far more imposing. Spencer faltered under his gaze.

"That's what you hired me for. You stood in this very spot and gave me the job in front of everybody - you don't like how I'm doin' it, you can try to fire me." At the word 'try', Maggie's eyes once again found Michonne's, then Carol's. They all knew. This was the Rick they'd been discussing this morning. This was what they'd done; made him their protector. And Rick would do anything to protect his own. Including turning on Spencer, if he was forced to. "You're the politician. I'm the warden. You make sure your people are satisfied - I'll make sure they stay _alive_. Do we understand each other, son?"

Looking as though he'd rather tongue kiss a walker than submit to this, Spencer finally nodded stiffly. Glenn's eyes flickered from Rick to Maggie and back again. He didn't attempt to interject again. He knew Rick had already made up his mind. And he was right.

"Uh - sorry to interrupt." Rick froze at the sound of Jessie Anderson's voice.

She had knocked, but she heard raised voices, and when no one came to the door she knew she should probably just go in. When she did, she caught the last of Rick's words. About him being the warden. Just the steel in his voice made her shiver. She swallowed thickly, as now all eyes in the room turned to zero in on her. She could feel the tension coating the air like a second skin.

Her heart pounding, Jessie focused on Rick. "You said there would be a vote this morning."

The ex sheriff sighed, scratching his chin and stepping back from Spencer. Carol frowned, as did Glenn and Maggie, but she noticed that Michonne looked cool as a cucumber. She ignored them and took another step into the room.

"I'm sorry, I know I'm interrupting something, and you can get back to it, I swear. It's just that I promised Sam." Her eyes turned beseeching, and Carol stared at her suspiciously as she appealed to Rick. He started to speak, but she held up a hand, shaking her head. "I just came to say that, if you want me to be a nurse, fine. I'll do it. But...I also want to be trained to fight. I _need_ to be." Jessie swallowed hard. Here was the hardest part. "You're right, Rick. I can't protect Sam the way I am right now." Her voice wavered with emotion, and Rick looked down as if to spare her a moment to collect herself. She did so, taking a breath and moving on. "But I'm willing to learn. How to heal...and how to _fight_. I'm not losing my child. He's all I have left. Please."

Rick watched her for a moment, silently considering. He gestured to the group at large. "I told you, it doesn't need to be my decision alone," he finally said. He turned to face everyone, relieving her of his intense gaze. "I asked Jessie to help Denise in the infirmary. We need the extra hands, and I need Tara back out on watch more often until we can get more people trained. It's the best solution for everyone, I think. But if you don't agree, we can find somethin' else."

Glenn smiled empathetically at Jessie. "It's okay with me. Rick's right, Denise needs the help."

"It'll be fine, Jessie." Maggie offered, her accent coated with an encouraging tone. "You'll handle it."

Jessie's heart pounded in her chest as one by one, everyone around the room agreed to Rick's appointment. Michonne went last. "Jesus says they have a surgeon at Hilltop," her cool voice announced, causing Rick to raise his eyebrows with interest. "Maybe she could help train them both." She shrugged, her eyes moving from Jessie's to Rick's. "One more reason to check the place out."

Her lover and leader nodded his agreement, turning back to Jessie. "Alright. It's settled. You good with that?"

Jessie held out, pulling her courage up from her shoes, standing as tall as she could. "I'll do it if Carol trains me." Carol's eyes snapped to Jessie's, her gaze razor sharp, and Jessie bravely turned to meet it head on. That tension was back, weighing her down, trying to discourage her, but she resisted it. She had to get this done. She had to - for Sam.

"Why Carol, Jessie?" Rick inquired, attempting (and failing) to hide his resistance to the idea.

"Because she's one of you, and you're all too busy to train me." She recited the reasoning she'd been thinking about all morning, her voice steady and confident. "She's unattached - no kids, no distractions. She's saved your lives a few times, according to you all. And you want me to be an _asset_ , not a weakness."

Jessie turned to glance at Rick with determination brimming in her pale, sky blue eyes.

"Carol's one of the best assets you have. Am I wrong?"

Rick was tempted to think this was some kind of joke, until he saw the look on Carol's face. She was considering it. The thought of the two of them, working together on _anything_ , bothered the hell out of him. He couldn't put his finger on why, but he didn't receive a chance to think it through. Michonne spoke up, and to his (and Jessie's) surprise, it was in favor of the idea. "She's got a point. Carol knows how to survive, we've all had her cookies."

Carol rolled her eyes at Michonne's little joke and slight smile. But she had managed to break up the tension in the room, just a little, which was her goal. What she didn't say was that Rick and Carol both knew Carol _owed_ them for what happened to Morgan, for dropping this Wolf shit in their laps this way. She'd told Rick all Jessie needed was someone to show her the way. Carol would pull no punches and take no excuses. Michonne got serious again.

"We _do_ need more assets. On the walls, in the infirmary, and _out there_." She jabbed a hand toward the window, and the Hilltop beyond in the unknown distance, her toned arm outstretched as she stood elegantly with her sword hanging down her back. Rick watched her, recognizing that she was asserting _her_ will, now, just like he'd done. That was it, this conversation was over. They all knew what had to be done.

"Okay." Carol agreed. "I'll train her."

Rick bounced his leg hesitantly, biting his lip as he resisted just a little longer. He still didn't like it, but he couldn't speak on it, and besides - he'd been searching for a way to recuse himself from Jessie's healing process. This was it. Even Michonne could see the opportunity. So, reluctantly, he gave in. "All in favor, then. You got yourself a job, Jessie."

"Thank you." Jessie said, sighing with relief.

All in favor. They were going to trust Jesus and allow him to take them to the Hilltop. They were going to try to work out a deal with Murdock. The Wolf would remain alive, and Rick alone would decide his fate when they returned.

Jessie was getting exactly what she wanted, and hopefully, if things went as planned, more.

* * *

Carl watched Judith making a squishy, dark violet mess of herself as she ate a pile of blueberries while he washed the breakfast dishes.

He was thinking about Sam, who was upstairs playing _Marvel Vs. D.C._ as a single player, still playing with Hawkeye.

He seemed to really like Hawkeye. He had beat Carl three times with that character, even when Carl played as Iron Man. Got him right in the arc reactor protecting his heart, killing him dead. Carl smirked as he washed out a bowl and dumped it in the dish rack to his left, turning off the tap water and grabbing a towel to dry his hands. He was glad he'd suggested playing that video game. Sam was really into it. He almost seemed...normal again. There was somethin' to that - he just hadn't figured out what, exactly.

And he was distracted, listening out for Enid. Ever since his dad and everyone left, he'd been unconsciously counting the minutes, trying to guess when his dad might make it to the Monroe house. How long it might take for him to send her here. And how long he'd have to wait for her to make her way up the hill to his house. It was kinda nuts, but he couldn't wait to see her.

As if on cue, he heard a knock at the door. He dropped the towel on the counter, glanced back at Judith to make sure she was secure in her high chair, and stalked into the hallway.

He got to the door in a few hurried strides and opened it, relieved to see Enid standing there, her big eyes turned up to his. He immediately reached out and hooked her by the waist, pulling her closer to him, over the threshold. They hugged tightly and she showered him with soft kisses on his neck, making his hat tip back on his head. "Boy, did you miss me or _what_?" She whispered teasingly in his ear, even though she was practically purring for him inside. "You're such a baby."

"Shut up," he mumbled into her hair, his head buried against her shoulder as he squeezed her tight, both arms wrapped securely around her tiny waist underneath her backpack. "What took you so long?"

"There's some shit going down over there," Enid said as they released each other and he stepped back to let her in. "Your dad and Maggie looked pretty stressed. And Carol was being an asshole, as usual."

Carl rolled his eyes at Enid as he closed and locked the door behind them. She always claimed Carol had it out for her, but he knew she just wasn't used to being around Carol. She was a hard lady to peg, that's just the way it was with her. Ever since they lost Sophia, Carol had turned into an adapter, a chameleon, someone who was as tender as a grandmother one minute and as cold as a snake the next.

Carl learned from his dad and Michonne to just let her be. As long as she didn't put his family in danger (and that was the thing with her, she always acted _for_ the group, never the other way around), he was fine with her.

Enid would learn that soon enough. For now, her complaining was kind of amusing.

"Hey, Enid." They both looked up to find Sam at the foot of the stairs, watching them. He still held the video game controller in his hand.

Enid paused to offer Sam an awkward smile as she took off her backpack and let it slip to the floor. "Hey, Sam...where's your mom?" Enid had seen Jessie Anderson headed in the opposite direction as she cut through the lake path to get up to Carl's street. She wondered what the perpetually sad-eyed woman was up to, and figured maybe she had told her son.

Sam shrugged. "She went to get a job. Wanna play me? I already beat Carl, like four times."

"Hey - _three_." Carl corrected, heading into the kitchen to get Judith.

Enid smiled in earnest now. She didn't mind the kid so much, he just reminded her too much of her own pain when he was around sometimes. But he seemed okay today, maybe a little better than okay. That was probably thanks to Carl, she knew. He had the same effect on her.

"Why don't you pick someone for me? I'll see ya up there in a sec, okay?"

"Sure! I'll pick someone good, promise." He said enthusiastically, turning to jog back up the stairs. "Gonna beat you fair and square!"

"Whoa." Enid muttered, impressed as she followed Carl into the kitchen, spotting him cleaning Judith's face of blueberry mush. "What happened to Sam? Invasion of the Body Snatchers?"

"I dunno, I guess I hit a nerve," Carl shrugged as he gingerly lifted Judith from her high chair and bounced her on his hip, his hat falling forward to obscure his eyes again. "Kid really likes Hawkeye."

"Isn't that a good thing, though?" Enid asked nonchalantly, stepping forward to play with Judith's tiny little outstretched hands. Carl frowned down at her, thinking.

"What d'you mean?"

It was her turn to shrug. "If he loves the guy so much, maybe he'll wanna be more like him. You know, brave and stuff. Maybe he needs a new hero? Someone who doesn't scare him. Someone who isn't his dead brother."

Carl thought about what she was saying. "You think that'll work?"

"Couldn't hurt to try." Enid quickly changed subjects as Carl walked Judith to the kitchen door. "What's going on? Why'd your dad call a meeting? He said something about an intruder."

"Yeah, some weird guy named Jesus. He says he has a community, like ours. My dad wants to go check it out."

"You're not going, are you?" Enid asked as they climbed the stairs, momentarily nervous for the possibility that he'd go off somewhere with his dad for days and leave her here alone.

He paused at the top of the stairs, turning back to her with Judith in his arms, his eyes glinting in the warm morning sunlight finding its way into the hall from the windows in their bedrooms. "No. I'm stayin' here to keep you outta trouble."

Enid rolled her eyes but she smiled at him, her cheeks burning. "Yeah, yeah, yeah…"

She hopped up to her tiptoes and planted a soft, sweet kiss on his lips. Judith giggled and they both moved on, avoiding each other's eyes as something like love fluttered around in their stomachs.

They played a few rounds of _Marvel Vs. D.C._ while Judith occupied herself with chewing on the video game boxes littering Carl's floor. Sam beat Enid's Batman twice before she got him back, but he was relentless as Hawkeye. When it was Carl's turn, he'd already been thinking that whole time, and he had an idea formed in his head now. He chose Captain America and they began their first round.

"Hey Sam?" He asked, his eyes glued to the TV while his slender, nimble fingers moved fast across his controller, pressing buttons to get the Cap to perform one move or the other. Sam had him on the ropes, though. Hawkeye was fast, especially with that bow of his, thanks to Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam stuck his tongue out, only half concentrating on Carl's words as he attacked.

"What's your favorite thing about Hawkeye?"

Enid looked up from playing with Judith (she was hiding the video game box the baby seemed to like most behind her back, pretending it had disappeared), catching on to Carl's train of thought. She watched them, her eyes darting from the boys to the TV as Judith climbed up on her lap in search of that box.

Sam shrugged, still driving Carl's Captain America into the corner with his moves. "He's a perfect shot. He can hit anything from any distance. This game doesn't even do him justice - got ya!"

Carl looked up from his concentration on Sam to realize that he'd been beaten. They started Round Two. He continued questioning Sam. "Takes a lot of skill to pull that off. But I've seen it in real life. Daryl's a pretty perfect shot, too."

"Not as perfect as Hawkeye..."

"Don't let _him_ hear you say that." Carl kept playing, still thinking. He wasn't really even trying, instead using the time to distract Sam enough that what he was about to suggest would go down easy. He didn't want to scare the kid or make him nervous. He made his voice as casual and off-the-cuff as he could when he spoke next. "Actually, Daryl's got some extra bows. Ones he doesn't use anymore."

Sam paused the game and turned to look at Carl, his eyes curious, his brow furrowed. "He does?"

Carl nodded. "Yeah. You wanna see?"

Sam stared at Carl for a beat longer, and Enid watched, bouncing Judith lightly on her lap. She didn't know exactly what Carl was up to, but she was getting just as curious as Sam. "Why?"

Carl sighed and put down his controller. He decided to level with the kid. "I'm just wonderin' if you're as good a shot as Hawkeye. It could be cool if you turned out to be."

Sam shook his head slowly. "I don't think I am."

"It just takes practice, I'll bet." Carl counteracted encouragingly, keeping his gaze steady under the brim of his hat. Sam looked scared and nervous, despite Carl's efforts to ease him into the idea. He remembered that day on Hershel's farm, when his father knelt next to him and told him the plain truth. One day, he was gonna die, and he wouldn't be there to protect Carl or his mother anymore. Until then, they had to keep going; keep fighting. His dad needed help. Carl had to learn how to protect himself, and to help his dad protect their family.' _No more kids' stuff'_ , he'd said. This was the world they lived in, and to protect the people they loved - to survive - they couldn't just love and hope. They had to _act_. Survival was earned. Carl learned that the hard way. It was Sam's turn, now. "I can show you how. Daryl could help, too. What d'you say?"

Sam blinked, riveted, the game forgotten. He faltered, however. "What if I can't?"

Both Carl and Enid could see Ron's ghost dancing across the boy's eyes.

Carl sighed and squeezed his shoulder. "You have to try, man. You need to protect yourself. And now that it's just you and your mom, you have to protect her, too. I know you love her. My dad taught me that when you love someone in this world, you gotta do whatever it takes to protect them. That's just the way it is."

"Think about it, Sam…" Enid added softly, helping Carl out now that she knew what he was planning. "What if you could kill a dozen walkers all by yourself, without even having to get near them?"

Sam thought about it. Then he sighed and swallowed, looking up at Carl again. This was what his mom had been trying to tell him this morning. She wanted him to find a way to overcome his fear - find a way to be useful, like she was. _She_ was trying. He had to try, too. "Okay. What do I do?"

Carl grinned. "Wait here. I'll go get the bow."

A few minutes later, once he had retrieved one of Daryl's old bows from the hall closet downstairs, they were perched at Carl's window, staring down at one of the trees in the back yard. Sam was holding the bow, Carl behind him, showing him how to rear back, where to put his hands, and how to hold it steady.

Enid looked on, holding Judith. She listened to Carl's low, calm voice, as did Sam.

"Okay...take a deep breath." Sam took a deep, slow breath. "Focus on that tree truck, right down there. That's your target." Sam focused. In his head, that tree became the tree Ron had pushed him up against the night of the herd. They were surrounded by dead things, scrambling to grab them and eat them. His hands shook. " _Hold steady_ , Sam," Carl said firmly. "Be like Hawkeye. You're an Avenger. You have your orders. Aim. And shoot."

Sam nodded slightly, taking another slow breath and struggling to regain his composure. He imagined that he was Hawkeye - cool as a cucumber, with superior vision, fine-tuned senses, and perfect aim. In his mind's eye, the walkers were scrambling for Ron. Sam aimed at the tree trunk. He pulled the arrow back slowly. He had to save his big brother from the dead.

"The walkers can't see you." Carl reassured him. "You have the advantage. Take it. Now!"

Sam let the arrow loose. It rushed past his head, singing to him, and landed in the tree an instant later with a far-off, hollow _thunk_ that traveled up to them on the wind. "Whoa…!" Sam gaped at his handiwork in disbelief, his heart pounding, his eyes wide.

He turned to stare up at Carl, who smiled coolly. "Nice shot, man. Told you."

Sam grinned, returning his gaze to the arrow stuck in the tree trunk below them, across the yard. He reached for another one from the pile on the floor. "Can we do that again?"

* * *

When the meeting was over, they broke off into separate huddles to quickly assign who was doing what.

Jessie ended up standing awkwardly by herself next to Spencer in the middle of the living room while everyone talked in low voices. She noticed that Rick had turned his back on her and headed immediately for Michonne. They ended up at the window by the back door; the light hitting the white curtains illuminated them so that she could see them perfectly from her vantage point. Rick backed Michonne as close to it as he could without pressing her into it. Jessie could see the tension in his back and the side of Michonne's lovely face as her eyes rose up to his.

"Michonne, maybe you should-" He began in a gruff whisper.

"Don't say it, Rick." Michonne interrupted him, her eyes locked on his and narrowed to slits.

"Stay here." He said it anyway. Almost demanded it, though softly, because he knew she wasn't going to go for it. Still, he continued before she could deny him again. "You said yourself, you don't know how he'll react to you and I'm not takin' any chances."

"Exactly what do you think he'll do?" She argued, stepping up to him defiantly. "What do you think I'll _let_ him do?"

Rick stood up straight, his eyes darkening at her. His jaw was clenched tight, and she could tell by the look on his face and his stiff posture that he was holding back. She could practically read his thoughts in his expression. ' _What_ _ **have**_ _you let him do…?'_ But he faltered under her gaze, knowing that he was allowing the possessiveness in him when it came to her get the better of him. He was monumentally curious, but now was hardly the time or place. They had to get moving - they had a lot to do and he would just have to suck it the fuck up. Two nights. That's all this world had afforded them to be together, properly, finally. Now they had to go to work, and there was no telling when they'd get nights like that again. Rick didn't know how to express how that was making him feel, or even if he should. Michonne was not backing down - nor did he really expect her to.

"I'm _going_. You need me, and I'm not letting you walk in there without me backing you up." She held his gaze, determined to get him to hear her. "Backing _you_ up, Rick. You got that?"

Rick couldn't help the sweeping tide of relief that rippled through him at her words. He leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. "Stay close to me, baby. Okay?"

She nodded, closing her eyes, too, reaching up to grasp his gun belt again. This time he leaned into her willingly, exhaling through his slightly parted lips. "Whatever you say, officer." Michonne whispered sexily, making him go hard - suddenly and with gut-clenching intensity.

Jessie saw Rick suddenly lean forward and capture Michonne's lips with his, and she tore her eyes away from them - only to find Carol staring at her and Spencer. Jessie blinked rapidly but didn't end eye contact. Carol forced a steely smile and stepped up to Jessie. "Let's have a chat."

Rick finally broke their kiss and they got down to business. Daryl and Abraham went off to retrieve the RV, pick up Jesus, and drive it up to Rick's house so they could pack for the trip to Hilltop. Maggie went upstairs to do some packing of her own while Rick sent Spencer back to his watch post. Looking like a teenager being sent to his room, Spencer snatched up his rifle and stalked out of the house.

Rick caught sight of Carol and Jessie disappearing along a side road that would lead them to the little church and cemetery as he and Michonne followed after Daryl and Abraham. He got that anxious feeling in his gut again, but he didn't have time to answer it. He felt Michonne's hand slide into his as they walked, and he looked away from the two women to plant his gaze on his lover.

She didn't look at him, just squeezed his hand. He squeezed back and looked at the horizon again, his focus on the mission ahead.

Carol didn't say a word until they reached the cemetery, where she suddenly stopped and turned to face the young, pretty blonde. Jessie simply stood there, stoically ignoring the sight of the crosses made of wooden planks scattered around them. Ron's grave was here somewhere. She hadn't visited him in weeks. She couldn't.

Carol squinted at Jessie, taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one up. She offered the silent widow a smoke, and Jessie took one. Carol lit her cigarette for her, took a long drag of her own, and exhaled.

"What are you up to, Jessie?" Carol asked in a light, almost conversational tone. That steely smile was there again, partially obscured by cigarette smoke.

"I could ask you the same thing," Jessie said softly, shrugging and blowing smoke between her lips. "But it's none of my business, right?"

Carol didn't reply. She simply smoked her cigarette, waiting. Jessie sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I decided to take your advice, alright?"

"Which advice?" Carol frowned at her, taking another slow drag of her smoke.

"I'm gonna stop being stupid. Stop being weak." She swallowed thickly, glaring at Carol, fighting off emotion that she had no use for anymore. "But...I need your help. How did you _do it_ , Carol?" Jessie shook her head at the woman in awe, her ponytail swinging lightly in the morning sun. "Just tell me what to do. I know you know, so _help me_. Please."

Carol continued to stare at her, processing her request. After a long while of silence, she nodded slightly, tossing her cigarette out. "I can help you, Jessie. I'd be happy to."

Jessie noticed that the sentiment in her words didn't quite reach her eyes, but she didn't care. She was just grateful that the hardened survivor was going along with it. "Thank you!"

"But there's something I need you to do in return," Carol cut in sharply, her eyes deadly serious. Jessie's smile slowly dissipated. She swallowed and nodded, her heart pounding.

"What do you need?"

Carol looked off at the wooden 'headstones' cluttered around them in the small church yard, thinking. She was about to take a big risk in trusting the budding fighter, but she didn't have many options, and she didn't want Rick to lose trust in _her_ \- there was no way in hell she would risk being exiled again. He would thank her for this, she was sure of it. Even if he never knew it.

"Spencer's gonna fuck this up for all of us," she began, turning back to Jessie to get a read on how she would take this. "He's feeling insecure, and you and I both know: Insecurity makes a man do stupid shit."

Jessie bit her lip at the harshness of the older woman's tone. "So...you want me to what?"

Carol sighed and offered her an acerbic smile, as if the answer was pretty damned obvious. "Help me keep him away from that Wolf. He's gonna try to be Columbo, and we can't let that happen. He'll see me coming a mile away...but not _you_."

Jessie stared at her, and Carol didn't falter. After a long, tense moment, she realized that her cigarette had burned out. She looked down at it - wasted to nothing because of her inaction. Part of getting stronger was making hard decisions. Doing hard things. Things you never thought you'd do before. Throwing yourself to the wolves, as it were. The depressed blonde made a decision. And a request: "Teach me everything you know. Everything you do."

She looked up at Carol, her eyes just as cold and calculating.

"And I'll do it."

Carol stepped forward and offered her fist. Jessie raised hers. They bumped fists, sealing the deal.

* * *

 _ **Here comes Murdock...**_


	9. the new world

_I got the new world in my view_

 _on my journey, I pursue_

 _oh, I'm running,_

 _running for the city_

 _I got the new world in my view_

-King Britt, 'New World In My View'

* * *

"What the hell _is_ it?"

Daryl stared down at the brown lump of...stuff...wrapped in plastic that Denise was holding out to him expectantly.

"Homemade oat cake," The doc said matter-of-factly, adjusting her glasses. "Loaded with essential proteins, it's good for you - eat it."

"No thanks," he dismissed her, turning back to his task. "Gonna make a pit stop along the way. I'll catch somethin' then."

"What, like rabies?" She deadpanned, staring at him.

Daryl stood up straight from checking the oil on the R.V., wiping his hands on the towel from his back pocket. He looked down at the lumpy mass of 'protein' in her hand. "This 'cause I brought you all that medical shit?"

"Yeah...and...you remind me of someone." She shoved it at him and he took it.

"Well, I hope it tastes better'n it looks. 'Cause it looks like shit."

Carol watched Daryl talking with Denise from the porch, her arms folded. As she watched their exchange, she couldn't help thinking back to the early morning, when he'd been so close to kissing her. The very thought of being with a man like that again, let alone _Daryl_ , filled her with fear. She wasn't afraid of him, she was afraid of _herself_. She was his only friend, other than Rick. The only one who knew what his insides looked like. She couldn't take that away from him. And at the same time, she wanted to. She wanted to cease being his dependable old friend Carol. Open her legs for him, and fuck him into the floor. Maybe what she needed wasn't dependable old Daryl. Maybe she needed exactly what he was offering her - what was trapped in his jeans, hanging down his leg.

Maybe he needed a new friend and they _both_ needed to get laid.

Denise must've said something corny, because Daryl rolled his eyes and shook his head while the young doctor blushed and waved him off, heading suddenly in the other direction. He watched her go, his face scrunched up with confusion.

Carol sighed and turned to see Jessie Anderson standing on her porch in the distance, watching them all prepare to leave for Hilltop. Their gazes met, and Carol recalled their earlier conversation. As she thought of all the shit she was juggling, and what was still to come, she could only smirk and shake her head, turning her attention back to Daryl and the R.V.

This was shaping up to be a hell of a spring.

* * *

"Just for a day, maybe two…" Rick was explaining patiently to Sasha, Tara, and Rosita as they trudged up the hill towards his house.

He had borrowed them from their posts to give them orders about rotation on watch (with Spencer) of the Wolf in the basement while they were gone to investigate Hilltop with Jesus. Michonne had gone on ahead with the man in question to help ready the R.V. so they could take off when he got there. He looked up and noticed Jessie standing on her porch as they walked. He nodded to her, pausing what he was saying. She stared at him, and eventually nodded back.

"We're already spread thin enough as it is, Rick," Sasha uttered, squinting at the R.V. outside his house as they came to a stop and huddled together in a circle in the street. "This is gonna weaken us."

Rick sighed and nodded, already having thought of that. "I'm goin' to get us more people. Allies." He said gruffly, dipping his head at them sincerely. " _Food_. And other supplies that we _need_. I promise you, one way or the other, things are gonna get better, soon."

Sasha looked to Tara and Rosita. Rosita sighed and nodded, her eyes resolute from under the brim of her cap. Tara nodded, too. Sasha turned back to Rick and shrugged. "Alright. I'll take first watch at the brownstone. Heath owes me a double shift, anyway."

Rick gave her a grateful smile. "It's just a couple of days. You know what you're doin'. Stick to protocol and I'll be back as soon as I can."

All three women agreed and he dismissed them, turning to head up to the house.

"That's nothin, man. I had to eat barbecued _dog_ once." Carl was saying to Sam as they came around from the back of the house, carrying arrows and what looked like one of Daryl's old bows. "As a matter of fact - I've even had to eat dog _food._ "

"No way!" Sam gasped, turning a disgusted face up to what was visible of Carl's underneath all his hair and his dad's old hat.

"Yep." Carl smirked as Rick watched them make their way toward him, curious wonder softening his world-weary face. "Right outta the can. That's what you gotta do when you're out in the open."

They came to a stop a few paces from Rick, and Carl turned to hand a small satchel full of the arrows they'd retrieved from the back yard to the younger kid. Sam hooked the bow over his shoulder, slumping slightly to the side with the girth of it, and accepted the arrows gratefully.

"We're lucky to have walls, Sam." Rick heard his son say seriously as he looked on, speechless. "Yeah, sometimes bad things get in, but it's _our_ job to be ready for 'em. To protect our own. So you gotta practice, okay?"

"I will, I promise." Sam nodded eagerly, his eyes showing signs of life Rick hadn't seen in months. "I'll be a better shot next time."

"Deal. We'll use a real target once you've had some time to practice."

"Cool!" Sam's eyes got even wider.

"Hey, boys…" Rick finally interrupted. They both looked over at him as he approached. "Sam? Your mom's waitin' for you, son. Why don't you go show her your new bow?"

"Yes sir. Bye, Carl! Thanks for the bow!"

Sam took off towards his house, Rick and Carl watching him until he turned into his yard and sprinted up the stairs to his mom's waiting arms. He immediately showed her his bow, and she knelt down to give him her full awe and attention, her eyes glistening under the sun.

Rick turned back to his son and tilted his head in wonder again. "You've been busy, this mornin'..."

Carl smiled and nodded. "Yeah I guess I have. Sam's a good kid." His boy looked over to their porch, where Michonne was emerging with Jesus, handing Judith to Carol. He switched subjects, gazing at the scene. "So, you sure about this, Dad?"

Rick sighed and looked over at his family, too. "No. But, we have to check it out. Michonne thinks this could be the start to everythin'." He found himself nodding, still feeling that anxiousness in his gut over a man he'd never even met. "I hope she's right."

"She was right about this place," Carl turned to his dad. "And you know she's got your back."

"Yeah. I know she does." He returned his son's gaze. "I took your advice, Carl. I told her exactly how I feel. And you were right. She feels the same way." Carl smiled slowly, and Rick found himself smiling, too. "This _is_ different. We're a family, now. Thanks to you."

Carl blushed, but insisted: "I just told you what you already knew, Dad."

Rick allowed him his humility and grasped him by the shoulder. They needed to get going. "Grab your stuff. Carol can take care of Jude till we get back."

Carl shook his head. "Nah, I think I'm gonna hang back."

Rick frowned at him. "This is you worryin' about Enid again?"

"Enid's part of it, yeah." Carl was honest with his dad. Then, he looked off again in the direction of Jessie's house, where she and Sam were still on the porch. Jessie held Sam to her front with her arms around his shoulders. "But I wanna stay here and help Sam. I keep thinking about Ron, and Uncle Shane-" Rick frowned hard at the mention of his dead best friend, but said nothing, "-and what _you_ told me the day you gave me my gun." His son's eyes were large, serious, and radiant blue, like his. "Sam just needs someone who believes in him to show him how to do stuff. Ron's gone…" Carl shrugged. "So I should do it."

Rick let all of this sink in, and he felt nothing but immense pride wash over him. He squeezed his son's shoulder again, tenderly this time. There was something so pure and selfless about his boy - his young _man_ , he had to keep reminding himself - that Rick could simply not assign an origin to. He didn't think it came from him, or even Lori. He knew she always _wanted_ their child to remain good, and innocent, no matter what. But the harsh realities of this world had long since warped her hopes. What they had now...what _he_ had...was a young man who carried something like greatness inside him. A capacity for love, compassion, and leadership that was overwhelming. Rick watched Carl for a moment longer, beyond impressed with the maturity in his expression and attitude.

"Besides, someone's gotta stay back, keep this place safe."

Rick nodded, relenting. He had no doubt Carl would do just that. "I'm proud of you, son."

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

"She's beautiful…" Jesus watched Michonne play with Judith, finding that he admired her with every new discovery about her.

She obviously loved Rick's children like they were her own. He imagined the fierce maternal instincts she must possess. He had no doubt that she had saved their lives, even at the risk of her own, countless times. He could also tell that they loved her as fiercely in return. Carl, the young man, looked at her as though she spoke only the truth. And little Judith's eyes lit up whenever Michonne was near.

"Hear that, peanut? Jesus says you're a heartbreaker." Michonne smiled down at the little girl lovingly.

He felt a sharp pang of envy that he might never know what that was like. But he ignored it, and followed her from the kitchen, out onto the front porch. "I can tell you and Rick are trying to build something here," he began as they stepped out into the sun. "Something greater than these walls. A new world. A new way to not just survive - but _thrive_."

He turned to look at her sideways, his eyes fierce.

"Murdock and I are trying to do the same thing, Michonne. _We're on the same side_. Do you trust me?"

She gazed at him, balancing Judith, and gave him a barely perceptible nod. He knew then that they were on the same page. He knew he could rely on her to keep Rick and the others engaged. They both wanted the same outcome, he could feel that connection, that silent communication, between them now. With her help, Rick would want the same thing, too. He probably already did. He just needed the right conditions to fully trust it. They would work together to create those conditions.

"You just hold up your end of the bargain," Carol interrupted them, approaching to take Judith from Michonne. "And then we'll see…"

Jesus regarded her for a moment, but didn't reply. The woman who'd made such sweet cookies had cold eyes. Interesting.

"Hey."

They turned to see Rick standing at the foot of the porch, gazing at Jesus, and then Michonne. His eyes lingered on hers as he stood there, his hands buried in the pockets of his dark corduroy traveling jacket.

"You ready?"

Jesus nodded, but Rick was watching Michonne. She was so struck by the fire in his cerulean eyes that she didn't answer him. Suddenly overcome with the need to be close to her, and not giving a damn who was watching, Rick walked up the steps, taking his hands out of his pockets. He sauntered up to her and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Jesus stood back and watched, his eyebrows disappearing into his beanie as Rick leaned down and kissed Michonne tenderly - in front of everyone.

Abraham's mouth dropped open and his toothpick fell out. Glenn paused carrying a rucksack full of weapons toward the big, rusty camper to stare at them. Maggie, who was in the kitchen filling water bottles, did a double take at them through the little window above the sink. She smirked.

Carol bounced Judith against her shoulder, shocked (and envious). Daryl and Carl stopped discussing Sam's use of Daryl's old bow long enough to catch the tail end of Rick sucking face with Michonne in full view of the neighborhood.

Rick rolled his tongue around with Michonne's, gripping her and pressing her into him, aware of every pair of eyes on them and not caring. He did it to dissolve the anxious feeling in his gut associated with the mystery man, Murdock. He did it because he was head over heels in love with her, and he could not contain his need, in that moment, to touch her and feel her against him. To let her know with his body that he was a slave to her, doomed to love her and let her intoxicating wind blow him any which way she pleased.

He did it to let _everyone_ know - especially Jesus, and by extension, his boss Murdock - that she was _his_. He was _hers_. Finally, and for good.

Michonne smiled against his lips, completely caught off guard at first, but finding herself quickly giving in to him. She could feel the whole group watching them, but Rick was so intense, she stopped caring as she laced her fingers into his thick curls and let him press her body against his. She knew that he was brashly making a point - to her and everyone watching. She found herself not really minding it, as ' _Alpha Male'_ as it was. She did think his brutish tendencies were just as cute as his cowboy drawl and volatile protectiveness.

And, deep down, she wanted them all to know it, too. Even Jesus.

Jesus, for his part, was impressed. And more convinced than ever that Michonne was the key to sealing this deal. Rick finally let Michonne go and stepped back, almost bashfully. She smirked at him, licking her lips. "I guess I'm ready, _now…_ " she said, gracefully descending the porch steps and gliding towards the R.V.

Jesus followed her. Carol shook her head at Rick as he leaned over and kissed his daughter goodbye. "Smooth move, Clint Eastwood," she deadpanned, then softened. "Come back safe."

He forgave her her sarcasm as he picked up his automatic weapon and jogged down the steps to go secure them a better future.

"Hey Rick." Rick turned from watching Michonne to see Abraham sticking a fresh cigar in his mouth, a heavily curious frown folding his bushy red brows down over his eyes. He gestured to Michonne's retreating figure. "You hittin' that?"

Rick paused, unsure how to answer the question at first. He turned back to Michonne, who was now climbing into the R.V. with Jesus and Glenn. He felt pride expand his chest, watching her amazing body climb gracefully into the camper. He nodded to himself, then to Abraham, not attempting to hide the pride in his eyes. Why should he? All that mattered was that they were together, not what anyone else thought of it. Only Carl and eventually Judith had the privilege of making him think twice, and that deal was pretty much sealed. She was the closest thing to a mother they were ever gonna have, and she was his everything, and that was that.

"Yeah." He licked his lips, still nodding.

Abe suddenly broke into an amazed grin. "Well all righty, All Mighty. You have earned my undyin' respect, sir. That is goddamned impressive."

Rick fixed him with a look, but couldn't help a bit of a smirk fighting to bloom.

He started walking, leaving Abe to follow him to the camper.

That big, red, gun-happy bastard was right, though, Rick thought as he hugged his son goodbye and walked around to the driver's side. Michonne was... _incredible_. The former sheriff realized that pride and possessiveness were emotions he was just gonna have to get used to. He didn't rightfully know what to expect from that, but it certainly beat the hard stuff. He wanted to be with Michonne for the rest of their lives, if he could manage it. It hit him hard, how easy that desire was to accept.

He shook his thoughts away, realizing that he was just standing there, grinning like an idiot. Rick climbed into the camper and saw Michonne waiting for him in the passenger's seat. His heart skipped a beat, and he paused, gazing at her lean, fit body draped across that seat. "Let's go, baby," she said with a smile on her lips.

Rick climbed in and buckled up, turning to wait for Daryl to hop inside and close the back door behind him. "Let's haul ass-fault!" Abe barked enthusiastically, bumping his fist against the door frame in a signal that everyone was in and ready to go.

Rick started her up, taking one last look at his house, his son, and his daughter cradled in Carol's arms on the porch. Then his gaze fell to Michonne. He reached out for her, running his hand along her leg until he laced his fingers in hers. Her fingers returned his embrace as he pulled off and out onto the road, his other hand expertly guiding the wheel as he drove them down the hill towards the gates.

Eugene opened it for them, and Rick drove them out of Alexandria with Michonne's hand still in his.

Behind them, Jesus sat up close, watching.

* * *

 _Nine hours later..._

The engine hissed and the wheels snarled as Rick slammed futilely on the gas pedal, trying to get them out of the mud hole they'd found themselves in.

It was his fault. He'd been lost in his thoughts, turning the possibilities of this meeting around in his head, over and over. He'd driven them right into it. Now they were stuck.

"Shit. We're stuck!" He announced, squinting through the windshield against the waning sunlight as he let go of the keys and took his foot off the pedal.

He looked over at Michonne. She was rubbing her eyes of sleep from her nap. After staying awake with him practically the entire way here, she'd finally dozed off about an hour ago. Her face was radiant when she was just waking up, he'd noticed from the last couple of mornings they'd spent together.

"No worries." Jesus touched Rick on the shoulder to get his attention and gestured a gloved hand at the horizon through the windshield. "We're here."

Everyone in the camper looked up through the front windshield at the landscape in front of them. They were sitting at the bottom of a vast, lush green hill. Running along it, there was what looked like a fence made of lumber, sharpened into spikes at the top. The gates were fashioned from even bigger, taller panels of scrap metal than at Alexandria, looming just ahead of them over a deep ridge in the hillside.

They all climbed out and walked through the mud to get a better look. The hillside was huge.

"That's us. That's the Hilltop…" Jesus said, staring up at his home proudly.

Rick turned back to his group, giving them one last signal with his eyes to be on their guard.

Jesus led them up the hill toward the gates.

As they went, they all let their thoughts walk with them. Both Rick and Michonne saw Murdock looming in their minds beyond those gates, but for different reasons. Maggie and Glenn were thinking of the surgeon Michonne had mentioned during the morning meeting (and the ultrasound machine Jesus told them about on the way here). Daryl kept his eyes peeled on the gates, scanning for signs of life. He smelled the air. They had livestock, alright. They were also doing metal work in there, he could smell the coals from the furnace and the unique scent of cooling iron wafting down towards them from the top of the hill. Abraham kept his eyes on his compadres and the gates beyond, his gun propped on his shoulder, held up by in his big hands. He watched Maggie and Glenn walking side-by-side, and Rick and Michonne leading the pack behind Jesus. It was baby-makin' and Love Connection season in Alexandria, apparently. This mission was just an extension of that, he figured. They needed food, they needed allies, sure. But they also needed _security_ with a capital 'S'. That's what he saw in the eyes of his leaders and their women. It was time out for just _playing_ house.

On the one hand he envied Rick and Glenn. On the other, he had come to accept (and even prefer) the notion that he'd have a better chance of hearing the devil fart in hell than settling down in these hellacious times. Rosita crossed his mind. Then...Sasha. Even if settling down was a possibility for him, he didn't deserve either one of them. So he focused on the mission at hand. Time to meet the neighbors.

"Halt!" Someone shouted as they came within a yard or so of the gates. Everyone immediately raised their weapons, and Jesus hastily stepped forward to reassure whoever it was up there on watch.

"Drop your weapons!"

"You g'on come down here and make us?" Daryl growled, his eyes narrowed to slits behind the scope of his automatic weapon.

There were two men perched atop the gates. They were aiming what looked like spears at Rick's group. Jesus spoke to them, looking a bit annoyed but not worried, Rick noticed. "Open the gates, Cal. They're with me."

"Tell them to lay down their weapons." The Cal fellow answered defiantly. Rick shifted on his feet and let his eyes slip over to Jesus, indicating that he didn't have much patience for this. " _Then_ I'll open the gates."

"Yeah, we're _waitin'_ for ya, asshole!" Abraham barked from behind his gun scope.

Jesus sighed hard. "That isn't necessary, guys."

Rick turned back to his group to signal for silence. Their guns remained drawn, but they obeyed him. He focused on Jesus again, his heart pounding, his fight or flight instincts threatening to take over. "Look - we don't take chances anymore. Tell your guy Murdock to come out here."

"Rick." Michonne's voice cut into his resolve. Jesus looked over at her, and reluctantly, so did Rick. She didn't want to have their meeting out here in the mud, Rick could tell instantly. She didn't speak further, but he got the message all the same. He was torn. Hostility slithered through him; he was annoyed with himself for not being able to shake off the anxious feeling in his gut. He didn't want another Terminus...he didn't want another _Shane_. The fear finally formulated in his mind and he was unable to deny it to himself when he thought of it this bluntly.

"Don't you see what I'm trying to do?" Jesus's urgent voice broke into his thoughts and he turned away from Michonne to face their escort. "I'm letting you keep your guns." The younger man's eyes pierced him with determination and openness. " _You_ have the advantage, here. If you wanna know the truth, what little ammo we had was taken from us months ago."

Rick frowned hard and everyone turned their attention from the spear-wielders at the gates to listen to Jesus. "What d'you mean, it was taken? Who did it?" Rick demanded in a low drawl.

Jesus sighed, his eyes flickering from Rick's to Michonne's. "Murdock will tell you everything. That's why you're here. We're all in this together. We have to trust each other, now. _I'm_ trusting _you_. So please...trust _me_."

Rick watched his eyes for any signs of insincerity. He found none. Instead, Jesus looked completely humbled. Rick couldn't put his finger on this guy. He seemed to know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, exactly how to handle any situation he was in. When Rick thought about it, Jesus had been in hostile territory for hours, now. Not once did he come off as anything other than forthright. And now, he was escorting a gang of strangers into his home with an arsenal of automatic weapons, and only spears to protect them. This could all be a set up, but the ex sheriff's instincts told him that these people weren't really a threat.

Trust was a tricky thing, Rick knew. But sometimes you had to gamble with it.

Finally relenting, Rick whistled low and his family lowered their weapons. He shifted on his feet before Jesus to a less defensive stance, lowering his own gun to rest against his hips. "Alright. We'll do it your way."

"Thank you." Jesus breathed, obviously relieved. He turned to raise his eyes sharply to his people atop the rusty scrap metal Kong walls above their heads. "Open the gate. Now."

* * *

At first, they all just stood there, taking it all in.

Rick squinted against the light of the setting sun in the distance, his gaze fixed on the large, white plantation-style house sitting atop the steep hill before them. Everyone looked around silently as Jesus trudged a little ways above them and turned back to face the group.

He started explaining their history as he walked backwards, and they all slowly followed him. He told them why they chose this area - specifically, the hill house - where the rows of white mobile homes had come from, what they grew, where they kept their livestock, how many children they had, and on pretty much like that. He was an open book as he slowly led them up the hill path paved in red, clay-like dirt.

Daryl saw that he was right about the metal shop. They had one tucked under a rickety tin roof right in the middle of town. Abe watched the women hanging laundry in front of their FEMA homes, kids running around like they didn't have a sugar-coated care in the word, and nervous-looking chaps walking around carrying spears. He chewed on his cigar, not sure if he was amused, on edge, or felt right at home.

Rick catalogued everything around him and Michonne listened carefully to Jesus.

"I would introduce you to Dr. Corday, but she and some of the others went out with me to scavenge for supplies, and I'm afraid they're - delayed." He told them, his eyes pensive as they came to a stop at the top of the hill, a few paces from the house.

Rick raised an eyebrow, catching wind of the dismay hidden in his expression. "Delayed by what?"

"Should we be sending out a rescue party?" Michonne asked more gently.

Jesus frowned and shook his head. "No, we know where they are. They're not fine, but...they are safe. For now."

Before Rick could question him further, he heard Michonne gasp softly. And as he turned to look at her, he heard a voice from the top of the hill, coming from the house.

"Jesus. You brought guests?"

Jesus let a slow smile spread across his face. He addressed the group in a soft, pleasant voice before answering the man who had called his name. "In the meantime, you may as well meet Murdock."

Rick's eyes were glued to the house as Jesus turned around, giving them all a full view of it now. Standing on the second floor balcony of the sweeping, imposing structure was a tall black man leaning on a cane.

He had called Jesus's name, but Rick could tell that he was staring at their group. Even from that distance, he could sense the man's eyes were on Michonne.

"I brought guests!" Jesus called back.

Rick's heart was thundering in his chest as he gazed up at the man in the balcony, his hands gripping his weapon so tightly his knuckles were going numb. They were going in now, and it was time to meet him, yet _he and Michonne were staring at each other,_ across the distance, as if there was no one else there.

"Well...bring them in." Murdock called, still staring down at them - at Michonne.

Jesus nodded and turned to face them again as Murdock disappeared into the house. "Welcome to Hilltop. Come on in."

Rick exhaled silently, loosening his grip on the rifle in his hands as their tour guide gestured for them to follow him inside.

As Jesus walked ahead of them, he could feel the tension wafting off of Rick in waves. And he could sense the anticipation in Michonne's every move. He was also anxious. Murdock and Michonne hadn't seen each other since long before the tragic end of the world, and Jesus had no idea what they would do when they did. He imagined Rick was thinking this exact same thing - and dreading it. So was Jesus. Though he knew this was the right thing to do, for the sake of this alliance, for their communities, for their survival...part of him wondered if he weren't risking something too precious to achieve it.

Rick watched Michonne follow closely behind Jesus, edging ahead of the group. His feet felt heavier with each step, understanding how powerless she was to stop herself from rushing inside to reunite with her long lost friend. He determined to himself (somewhat futilely) not to do, or even think anything rash. To think with his _head_ , not his ego. To remember why they were here. It wasn't to sooth (or encourage) his insecurity. He had to put their future firmly in the forefront of his mind and keep it the fuck in his pants. For his community. For Michonne.

Michonne knew that Rick was on edge, and it made her heart sink, but the sight of Murdock standing on that balcony had sparked an emotion so powerful it propelled her forward - she had to follow it.

 _He was alive!_ So many memories, so many years they shared together. She wasn't just walking briskly up a red clay hill toward Murdock, she was running back to her old self. Her past. Something she had buried so deeply, she hadn't realized how traumatized she'd been. She was already fighting off tears as she followed Jesus in through the large entrance of the house.

"Good gracious, Ignatius…" Abe muttered in awe behind them as they made their way over the threshold into the grand foyer.

It was huge, and breathtaking inside.

It was like they'd traveled back in time, to some bygone era. The paintings on the looming walls, the ancient drapes adorning the tall windows, the hard, thick wood everything was carved out of, even the _smell_ of the place was teeming with centuries of history. It was fitting for the occasion.

Rick was momentarily distracted from his fixation on Michonne by the scale of the place, and he found himself peering around with the others. Michonne was watching the grand staircase in front of them as Jesus closed the doors behind them and took off his jacket and gloves. He walked around to the front of the group, explaining that there were six bedrooms, plus 'servants quarters', a stable, a grand dining room and a library.

It was only the first room of the house, but Daryl felt like a bug on a big ass windshield looking around the huge, pristinely-kept space. Maggie fell in love with how old and elegant everything was (she felt dirty and clunky walking through the enormous, gorgeous foyer), while Glenn was mildly impressed with how spotless everything looked. Abe thought whoever lived here had it pretty peachy fuckin' keen.

There was movement at the top of the stairs, and everyone looked upward to see Murdock emerging from the hallway, walking steadily with the aid of his cane.

Rick took him in, head to feet. He was maybe six-two, lean and dark-skinned. His eyes were deep, wise, and crinkled at the edges. The rest of his skin was as smooth as Michonne's, and if it hadn't been for the wisps of gray in his otherwise jet black hair, Rick wouldn't be able to guess how old he was. He was clean-shaven, dressed in jeans, boots, and a black, long-sleeved henley shirt - and he was still staring at Michonne.

Jesus was about to introduce everyone, but he stopped, watching with the rest of them.

Rick's eyes slid from Murdock as he descended the stairs slowly, to Michonne as she watched him coming. Her eyes were glistening, though she hadn't shed any tears. She was biting her lip, shaking her head slightly, fighting off a huge smile. Rick lost his breath and turned his gaze back to Murdock, who had made it to the landing and was walking toward her, his face full of pure wonder and intense sadness.

"Michonne...?" He said her name, and Rick knew what was going to happen just by the sound of it. He froze in place, unwilling to trust his body right then as he waited for the inevitable sound of the happiness in Michonne's voice.

"Murdock!"

Then the tall man opened his arms, and scooped Michonne into a long, tender embrace. Rick watched, experiencing the strange mixture of gratitude to hear her sound _so happy_ for the first time since he'd known her, and the dull ache of jealousy beginning to pound in his chest.

It had nothing to do with the way Murdock's arms were wrapped securely around Michonne's slender body as he spun her around and squeezed her tight. It had nothing to do with how her shoulders and back shook with silent sobs as she held him back, or how incredibly intimate the sound of her name was in that man's voice.

Those things made Rick so angry he wanted to punch a hole in the wall, but those things had nothing to do with his jealousy.

 _There was history there._ Rick felt it like a gut punch as he watched them reunite. There was _so much history_ in Murdock's voice, and Michonne's. _He knew her_ \- knew her in ways Rick had never known her, and might never get to. Knew her before the walkers, before they all became killers, before the Governor, before Andre. Rick was sick with jealousy as he shifted on his feet and clutched his gun to his stomach, watching Murdock lower Michonne to the floor again.

She bent forward, wracked with emotion, and wiped the tears from her face. "Oh man…" she breathed, standing up straight again to smile up at him. "You're a sight for sore eyes, you know that?"

"I can't believe you, girl," Murdock whispered in awe, reaching up to brush a single tear from her skin. Rick clenched his jaw, staring. "Of course... _of course_ you survived!"

They laughed some more, both their smiles weighed with sadness. There was so much she had to tell him. So much he didn't know. She felt like everything was piling up in her throat, waiting to spill forth. She found she couldn't wait to just talk to him, like they used to. He felt exactly the same.

Michonne became lost in his dark, wise eyes. She remembered looking into those eyes over and over again growing up. The face around them changed gradually over the years, but _they_ never did. Murdock's had been the best friendship of her life. When it was over, she mourned it like it was death. Until it became death. And then she simply let it go and blocked it out. But now it was back, and it was visceral, all at the behest of those eyes of his.

Eyes that were totally unlike the cerulean fire of the man standing behind her, his silence as palpable as the tight embrace her old friend had just given her.

"I had help…" she said quietly, stepping back from Murdock and turning to Rick.

His expression was unreadable but his stance was rigid, tense. And while everyone else was watching Murdock and Michonne, Daryl was watching Rick. A sure sign that they should move on.

"Murdock, this is Rick Grimes," Jesus began, gesturing to Rick as he walked towards the landing to join them. "These are his people - they're from Alexandria, it's close to where Lizzy and I were scavenging."

Jesus went around the group calling out names. One by one Murdock acknowledged Maggie, Glenn, Abraham, and Daryl.

Murdock and Rick met each other's gazes. Michonne stood between them, trying to let her relief and happiness from being reunited with someone special to her rub off on Rick. Murdock's gaze was benign, but to Michonne it was like old times. He had an ability to understand what page he was on with anybody almost instantly, just by looking in their eyes and reading their body language. That's how they became such good friends. Why they eventually became a couple. Why they inevitably drifted apart.

But he was a charming dude back in the day, even as a kid. Everyone in their neighborhood loved him, respected him, had high hopes for him. When they dated, they were like celebrities among their friends and family. Murdock put people at ease, or stood his ground, based on his respect for a person's personal space, their time, and above all, their mindset.

And right away, he could see that Rick Grimes was not in a good mood.

"Good to meet you, Rick." Murdock said cordially.

Rick nodded, adjusting his gun slightly in his arms. His fiery blue eyes were sparkling and his jaw was clenched, but he managed what could be considered a polite smile. "Good to meet you, too, Murdock." He glanced back at Jesus, frowning, unable to look at Michonne just yet. "Jesus tells us you wanna form an alliance against a common enemy. That you need weapons, and fighters." He turned back to the 'sight for sore eyes' and shrugged. "We came to offer our services."

"They check out, Murdock." Jesus spoke up, his gaze beseeching. "I spent time with them, they took me in, they're good people. They're _Michonne's_ people." He looked across to Michonne, and so did Murdock.

She nodded, gazing at Murdock happily. "Rick saved my life. They all did. I've been with them for a while, now. He is exactly the man you need."

Looking at her, Murdock felt like a freight train had run him over. She was alive, and just as beautiful as he remembered her. If this had happened during those long months when he had lost his mind, he might not think she was real. Or he might think she was a ghost. His little beanpole, 'Chonne was here. Standing right _here_ , in front of him, coming to answer his call for help. He had long since stopped believing in God, but there was no other thing he could think to call this - it felt like a goddamned miracle.

"Then I'm grateful to you, Rick." The tall, handsome man stepped forward, leaning on his cane, and offered Rick his free hand. Rick lowered his gun and took it. His grip was equally firm as they shook once. " _Thank you._ For bringing 'Chonne back into my life."

"That was all Jesus," Rick replied, dipping his head and stepping back. His eyes rose to Michonne, whose radiant skin was still damp from her tears. "He called it…" He told himself he was just getting down to business before he spoke next. He knew deep down, however, as he turned his gaze back to Murdock, that he could've just as easily been more gracious if he chose to. But looking around at all this opulence, then watching this man scoop his woman up and call her ' _Chonne_ before gettin' the gumption to say ' _Thank you'_ had pushed Rick as close to the edge as he was willing to go. He found himself needing to send the message. "You see, _we_ need things, too. Michonne said you could help us. We came all this way for food - we're gonna get it."

Murdock regarded him for a moment, assessing. The man was a killer, of that he was certain. But there was something in his blue eyes, other than cold steel and blunt intent, that told Murdock he _could_ be exactly the man they needed. The tall leader of the Hilltop turned to his right hand man, his trusted advisor.

Jesus nodded, offering a tiny smirk at Rick's gruffness. "I gave them my word we'd work something out. And I'm convinced we _will_."

If Jesus was this convinced, Murdock had to consider it. They desperately needed a solution to their looming, and increasingly sinister problem. Rick Grimes looked like he specialized in solutions.

"You _are_ usually right…" he replied to his partner, causing a knowing smile to grace the younger man's beard. Murdock sighed and turned to face the armed, wary group led by the man in the corduroy jacket who'd saved 'Chonne's life. He leaned on his cane, smiling at them gratefully, openly. "I'm glad that you've come. Jesus _is_ right, we do need help. Pretty desperately, actually. And we _do_ have food." He looked at Rick. Then at Glenn. "And a doctor." Then Daryl. "And other things we'd be willing to trade."

Now he turned his eyes back to his Michonne. He still could not believe she was here, so alive, and so beautiful. "This is no accident of fate, 'Chonne, you comin' back to me like this. When you and your people are here, they're like family. Hilltop is at your disposal. You can have whatever you need."

"Well, we're obliged," Rick spoke up, somewhat suspiciously, before Michonne could. "But we're not askin' much, we just need enough to get Maggie started growin' our own."

Maggie and Glenn exchanged looks, wondering what the hell Rick was doing. He was suddenly in a rush, and it was not going to get them what they needed.

Michonne could sense Rick's fight or flight mode rising up in him. He held his gun loosely in one hand but his body language was still tense. He was sparring with Murdock already without even realizing it. He was wound up, and she knew exactly why. Murdock was being gracious, but Michonne could sense from both him and Jesus that the situation was much bigger than Rick would be able to settle in the man's foyer before making a beeline back to Alexandria.

She decided to do the one thing she'd promised him - the only thing that could ease his anxiousness and bring him back to himself. She stepped toward him and settled in next to him, sliding her hand in his and squeezing. She would stay close to him now, like he'd asked.

Rick instantly relaxed, his strong, warm fingers slipping further into hers until they were clasping hands palm-to-palm. Jesus couldn't help a smile to himself as Murdock observed them thoughtfully. The source of much of the tension in the man was immediately apparent to him, now (as was Jesus's amusement beside him). Leave it to 'Chonne to be drawn to the Alpha of the group. Murdock knew that old feeling of watching some other guy benefit from Michonne's radiant attention. He decided to cut Rick Grimes some slack. Hilltop _did_ need him, and there was no way in hell its leader was going to let Michonne walk out of his life again.

"I'll tell you what - you all look exhausted. And hungry." He smiled and gestured to the house at large. "Please make yourselves at home. Freshen up, rest. Jesus will let you into a few of the rooms upstairs to use as long as you'd like."

"We won't stay long…" Rick started, gesturing with Michonne's hand still in his. "We don't want to take up too much of your time."

"Rick?" Murdock stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of him and Michonne. He was taller than them both, but his body language was almost humble. Open. He had nothing to hide and no one else to turn to. He sighed. "This won't be some back woods deal we make on a handshake and some dubious feelings. There's a lot to explain. If we form this alliance, you need to be aware of exactly what we're up against. And for that, we at least need some dinner and a stiff drink."

"Well, I am RSVP'ing _hell yes_ to that, sir."

Abraham spoke up from the back, breaking the tension. Rick rolled his eyes at Abe but he didn't turn from Murdock. He still wanted to resist - he wanted to strike terms for a trade right now and not stay one minute longer in this big ass house, but he wasn't going to get that and he knew it. Murdock wasn't an idiot, Rick could tell, so there no reason for _him_ to be one out of some fantasy of spite.

"Besides, me and 'Chonne still got some catching up to do." Murdock added, gazing at Michonne with all that history in his eyes again.

She smiled softly. "You're damned right, we do."

Her answer had sealed the deal. They were staying. Rick refused to let go of her hand as he finally gave in, nodding and standing up straight. This was important to her; it was important for them all.

"Then it's settled. Six more for dinner." Jesus spoke, and they all gratefully turned to him. "Come on - I'll show you guys to your rooms."

"I'll see you all down here in about an hour." Murdock stepped back and allowed the group to slowly follow Jesus up the grand, winding main staircase to the rest of the house.

He watched Rick and Michonne climb, hand-in-hand. Rick ushered her up ahead of him, letting her go to rest his palm against her back as they disappeared up the stairs. Michonne had definitely chosen against her type, at least as far he remembered. It wasn't that Rick was white, or that he was rough around the edges - it was that he seemed exactly the opposite of everything the Michonne Murdock remember had been. This was how things changed. How his old friend had changed. He wondered what awful hell she'd survived to drive her into the arms of a man like Rick Grimes.

He'd find out soon enough.

As they walked up the stairs and into the hallway, following Jesus, Rick turned to Maggie.

"You should talk to him, work out the deal on our behalf."

Maggie's head snapped toward him, her brow furrowed in surprise. She glanced at Michonne's back and then to Rick's face again. "Why me…?"

Her world-weary mentor sniffed hard, staring at Jesus and Michonne as he adjusted his gun on his hip again. "I shouldn't."

He left it at that, but Maggie caught his meaning loud and clear.

* * *

Jesus got everyone settled, set aside his jacket, vest, hat, and gloves - and headed for Murdock's study.

As was the usual, Murdock was staring out of the large windows behind his desk, watching the comings and goings on the hill. He didn't turn as Jesus slipped inside and closed the door behind him. They stood on opposite sides of the room, Murdock's gaze fixed on the scene below him, his right hand man's gaze fixed on him.

Jesus narrowed his eyes at the sight of Murdock's cane, and how the six-foot-two, broad-shouldered man had to lean against it for balance these days. He had purposefully withheld this information from Michonne. He didn't think it was his place to tell that story. That was a story for later, when they would talk to the Alexandrians _for real_. About the death and danger they were about to conjure with their alliance.

"How's the leg?" He asked casually, watching Murdock's still figure against the soft glare of the setting sun.

Murdock chuckled. "Same as usual. Hurts and weighs me down."

Jesus smiled, lowering his gaze at the sound of Murdock's deep, kind voice. It had been his _voice_ that initially convinced Jesus he was someone to follow. When he spoke, people listened to him. His eyes were shrewd, yet unassuming. He was a tall man, but he always gave you your space. Until he didn't.

"How did you find _Michonne_ , Jesus? _My_ Michonne?" Murdock asked, his voice heavy with wonder, as he turned around to face his right hand man. "Where'd she come from?"

Jesus sighed, stepping slowly into the room and coming to perch on the edge of Murdock's large, mahogany desk as the other man walked around to face him. He decided to start at the beginning, because he needed to and because getting into the subject of Michonne would force him to admit to feelings he wasn't prepared to examine yet. Murdock had a way with people - it was how he knew Jesus was so highly empathetic and perceptive, why he became their leader so quickly - and he would be able to tell the truth in the younger man's eyes as soon as he spoke.

"We got caught out in the open by some Saviors…" he began. Murdock frowned hard, but he nodded for Jesus to continue. "Lizzy and the others...they were forced to go with them, to treat some of their injured. They didn't see me, so I got left behind."

"That was the last you saw of them?" Murdock's heart sank as he stared into Jesus's glowing blue eyes. The twenty-something-year-old ran a hand through his golden hair and nodded.

"I ran into two of Rick's people. They knocked me out because I stole their truck."

Murdock couldn't help a grunt of amusement. Jesus was a wily one. More than just smart, and quick on his feet - he was an escape artist and a thief and a snake charmer. His talent had saved them, more than once. Murdock was grateful to have someone like Jesus at his side.

Fighting off a cocky smirk, Jesus went on. "They could've left me to die, but they took me in. Brought me to their community. Alexandria. I watched them. It's... _impressive_ , 'Doc. There's nothing like it."

"That's where you found Michonne." Murdock whispered, his dark eyes probing.

Jesus nodded. "Yes." He smiled softly, knowing that Murdock was listening very carefully now. "She was in the last house I visited. She lives with Rick, his son, and baby daughter. I knew it was her the moment Rick said her name."

"She lives with Rick, eh?"

"Yes...with Rick." Jesus just had to know what he was thinking. Murdock rubbed his chin, his smile developing into a faint smirk. The two of them shared amused silence for a beat, and then neither could help laughing in earnest at the memory of the scene in the foyer a short while ago. "He _is_ an intense man." Jesus laughed, his shoulders shaking as he chuckled with empathy for poor Michonne's predicament.

"And yet you think he's the guy to help get us out of this?" Murdock asked seriously, probing again.

"You should've _seen_ what he's doing there, Murdock." Jesus said in answer, his voice just as serious. "The defenses he's implemented - I've never seen anything like it. It's ingenious. It's...slapdash and held together with scrap metal and a lot of blood and sweat, but it _will hold_. He's thought of everything. His tactical mind is nothing to scoff at."

Murdock considered him, thinking hard about what that could mean for them. Jesus was no fool, and when he was sure of something that usually meant he had left no stone unturned. If he said that Rick Grimes was a desperately needed asset, then that was the truth. "Is he military?" Murdock guessed, pacing slowly on his cane.

Jesus thought for a second, but shook his head. "I don't think so."

Murdock changed his mind. "Hm...ex cop, maybe."

Thinking about Rick's general demeanor and physical prowess, Jesus could definitely picture it. "It would explain a lot."

His leader did scoff this time, thinking of Michonne. It would certainly explain how they ended up together. It was ironic, Michonne the defense attorney ending up with a cop. But _of course_ she survived. _Of course_ she fought like hell, and of course she found someone who was on her level, someone she could build things with. The Michonne Murdock knew was not someone who would wait around to die, or wait for someone else to save her. She found a way, always, so save herself. To save anyone who needed it.

Well now, Murdock needed saving. From the Saviors.

"You happy to see her?" Jesus asked quietly, watching Murdock carefully. He couldn't stop himself.

The tall, unfairly handsome man raised his dark eyes to meet his bright ones, and he knew instantly that the jig was up. He could never hide his feelings from Murdock. It was why they trusted each other so implicitly. Why they had become partners, leaders, and lovers.

Murdock took a deep breath, not wishing to hide from Jesus either. "Words can't describe."

Jesus nodded, a small crease appearing in his brow. "She _is_ exactly the way you described her. Beautiful. Compassionate. Strong. I can see why you're in love with her."

He had not misspoken. He watched, carefully, his heart pounding. Murdock stood up straight, his smooth face settling into wistful sadness. "I _was_ in love with her, a long time ago. You know that, Jesus."

"I know…" Jesus faltered, his eyes flickering to the hardwood floor. "And now that you know she's alive? Right here, in this house?"

Murdock couldn't help shaking his head, a smile gracing his lips. Jesus was young, he always forgot. He was wise beyond his years and one of the most selfless people Murdock had ever met, but he could still be a twenty-something-year-old diva when the situation called for it.

"It'll sound strange," he opted to say instead of answering his young lover's question directly, "but now I see my old self when I look at her. That's something I never thought I'd see - or be - again."

Jesus was staring at him, unsure of what he was trying to communicate.

"I want to talk to her. For hours, like we used to. I want to find out _everything_."

Murdock could see the stoic acceptance in those blue eyes of his, and he stepped forward, moving closer than they'd been since the night before Jesus left. Instantly, Jesus felt himself responding to Murdock's proximity. He breathed deeply, his eyes latched onto his tall, smooth-skinned counterpart's. Though he still leaned on his cane, Murdock was now standing directly over Jesus, who remained leaning against the big wooden desk. Jesus lifted his head up to meet the big man's gaze, leaning back slightly but not backing down. Murdock reached up with his free hand and stroked his beard, then his cheek.

"That's just words, Jesus. Stories. Maybe some laughter, some tears. Maybe some peace. That's all I want."

"But, part of her is still yours...and part of _you_ is still hers…" Jesus whispered, still insistent, to his detriment, as always with this man.

Murdock knew what he needed, so he obliged. He leaned forward and kissed Jesus intensely, silencing him. Jesus responded, his lips pulling on Murdock's, reaching up to stroke his smooth face. When they stopped, Murdock remained leaning over Jesus as the younger man's eyes closed. The kid was gorgeous, so kind, and so strong. Everyone who met him fell in love with him in some way.

"And _you're_ part of me, too. The part of me that exists, now, in _this_ world. That is not changing."

"You'll behave yourself at dinner, then…?" Jesus breathed, overcome with desire, angling his face upward for another kiss. Murdock obliged again, laughing at first, then returning the gentle tugging of his lips with fervor.

"Will _you_?" He countered, nudging Jesus with a push of his chin against the young man's soft beard, taking another kiss.

Jesus smirked against Murdock's lips. "I always do. Anyway - it's not me you should worry about."

Murdock lifted his head, now thinking of Rick Grimes. He stroked Jesus's hair, then turned to sit next to him against the desk. "And you're sure we can trust this guy?"

"Do you trust _Michonne?_ "

Murdock looked up at him. The sun was setting, the light was rapidly dimming. Yet Jesus had eyes that were illuminated from within. There was no choice, with him. Murdock simply fell in love with him. He could not trace it, or place it, or define it, or question it. He was a son, and a brother, and a lover, and a friend, and a protege all in one. Their relationship was beyond definition. Sex was part of it, but there was so much more. He couldn't wait to share that with Michonne.

He nodded resolutely, reaching over to take Jesus by the hand. "If she's still the same Michonne I knew, I'd trust her with my life."

"Then trust Rick. I told you, I watched them. There's nothing he wouldn't do for her."

It was settled, then. They would try to convince Rick and Michonne to help them. Yes, Murdock had been telling the truth. He wanted Michonne's words, their friendship, some semblance of the way things used to be. But he _needed_ her sword. And Rick's tactical, brutal mind.

In this world, love, loyalty, and fear might save them all.

* * *

Jesus had shown Rick and Michonne to a room at the end of a long hallway.

It was big, with a balcony and large windows, a fireplace and a canopy bed. It appeared to be the master bedroom, at least one that belonged to the original master of the house.

Rick concentrated on looking around, unable to hold still, unable to look at her, or to quell his mounting insecurity. Despite the deal he'd made with himself before walking into this place, something like a thousand questions were running through his head - about Murdock, about her feelings for him, about this so-called alliance, about where they stood, about if she was mad at him for letting his jealousy show. But he couldn't voice any of it. All he could do was pace around the room, examining this or that, taking off his jacket, putting down his gun, running a hand through his thick hair, anything but turn to face Michonne.

Michonne watched him, pretending to look around herself, but she could feel the tension wafting off of him like heat waves on a humid day.

He was brooding, disappearing into his thoughts, avoiding looking at her.

She could tell that he wanted to grill her about Murdock. She could also tell that he wasn't happy with himself for the way he behaved. She knew that Rick needed reassurance, and she was going to give it to him. He didn't have to ask. He would never have to, when it came to how she felt about him.

"I met him when I was seven," she began, sitting on the bed and looking down at her nails. A wistful smile developed on her thick lips. "We lived in Houston. In this shitty apartment complex. The slums."

Rick finally came to a stop by the bed, leaning on air, his jaw clenched and his chest muscles flexing under his white tee-shirt. He gazed down at her, listening carefully, waiting. She knew what he needed, he realized. She was trying to let him in on some of the history that he envied Murdock.

"Both children of immigrants, both total smartasses - we even had the same _bike_." She scoffed, the pleasant memories of growing up with her friend Murdock running through her mind's eye. "He's like a brother to me."

"Never more than that?" He couldn't stop himself from asking raspily.

She looked up at him, and his eyes changed blues under the rapidly descending light of dusk.

"When we were teenagers. Yeah, we fell in love," Michonne answered honestly, and he tried to hide the blow to the gut that her words conjured. He sank down to the floor, kneeling before her, lifting his head of brown, slicked back curls until he caught her eyes again. "But he wanted to be a free agent, and I wanted to make a difference. I went to law school and he went wherever he pleased." She reassured him firmly, reaching down to lace her fingers in those curls. Rick gazed up at her silently, his hands finding their way to her legs. "We drifted apart...I met Andre's father…"

Michonne fought off the emotion that came crashing through her with the memories as she tried to paint as clear a picture of her feelings for Murdock as she could for Rick.

"With us, everything worked...and yet nothing ever did." Thinking about how young they were, and how adulthood claimed them both in such different ways made Michonne yearn to get to know the man Murdock had become now that the world had ended even more. "But I think it could, _now_."

Rick frowned, trying to understand what she was telling him.

He was still jealous. It was almost endearing. She suddenly needed to be closer to him, to feel his physical intensity while she explained herself. Michonne tugged on his tee-shirt, pulling him gently to his feet and then onto the bed on top of her.

Rick immediately settled in between her legs, leaning down to brush his lips against hers, his weight feeling intoxicatingly secure. Michonne breathed in his scent and stared into his shining eyes, reaching up to trace the frown lines in his ruggedly handsome face with her fingers.

"We're here for a _reason_ , Rick." She gazed up at him, and he down to her, as the sun set across the windows, bathing the room in rose-tinted light. "Don't you feel it? We have a purpose, so does Jesus, and so does Murdock. We need him, but he _definitely_ _needs us_. _This_ is our advantage, baby. This is how we get this done. For _us_."

Rick nodded, but remained silent. Michonne scratched his chin with her finger. She knew what he was waiting to hear.

"Yes, I care about Murdock," she whispered, looking so beautiful underneath him in the ethereal light of dusk. "I...missed him...more than I even realized until Jesus said his name."

Rick's eyes flickered up and down at her as he listened, allowing her to stroke the curls at the nape of his neck now.

"But there's only _one_ man that I'll follow to the end of everything, Rick Grimes." Rick melted at the sound of her sweet, sexy voice, feeling himself go hard as soon as she uttered his name. He huffed out a breath as she leaned up to claim his lips.

Rick kissed her fiercely, pushing her down into the bed as both sets of her fingers laced into his hair. She clung to him as he moved his passionate kisses from her mouth to her neck, wrapping her legs around him and arching her back so that she could better feel the pressure of his thick erection straining against his jeans.

" _Mmm_ …you're the only man I'm in love with..." She moaned as he grinded himself into her, sucking on her neck with his steamy mouth. "I'm yours!"

Rick kissed Michonne into the mattress, his hard cock twitching between her legs, his chest full of desire and regret. He knew she was his. Of course he did. Their bond was too strong to doubt after one meeting.

No, he hadn't been shaken so badly by Murdock's good looks or even their already intimate rapport with each other. It was the _history_ Rick was jealous of. The brief glimpses he'd been given of Michonne's old life today alone weighed him down with longing. Rick wanted to know everything - but Murdock already did. When Rick pictured young, vivacious, beautiful Michonne, and what it must've been like to know her before all this blood, death and brutality...he found himself so fiercely jealous of Murdock that it took him totally off guard.

The Michonne she was today was so goddamned enthralling, so strong and awe-inspiring. What she'd brought into his bleak, grim life at the prison had _saved_ him. He knew he would have lost his mind - and with it, his ability to protect his family, the prison, and everything else - if it hadn't been for Michonne.

The thought of never meeting her hurt him to his core. The thought of her running into Murdock before they ever met, and becoming _his_ savior instead...it drove Rick crazy. He couldn't shake it. So he kissed her. Kissed her for the last two nights, for the here and now, for their future. Kissed her to keep them firmly rooted in _each other_ , and not his short-sighted insecurities.

She could sense how badly that reality had shaken him, though she couldn't verbalize exactly what electric current was rumbling through his strong body as he pressed himself into her. She knew it was unruly, and he was trying to tame it, or feed it, in her arms. She opened herself up to him physically, arching her back to push her breasts into him, widening her legs so that he could press her against him as close as possible with the barrier of their traveling clothes.

Rick tried to chase the dull ache of jealousy away as he reached up and gently clasped his hand around Michonne's throat, pushing his tongue into her mouth slowly, deeply. She whimpered and reached under his tee-shirt to run her smooth hands down his back, sinking them into his jeans to grasp his taut ass.

Their bodies grinded against each other with the rhythmic, overwhelming intent to fuck as they kissed and groaned quietly on the bed. Their intense need for each other pushed and pulled at them in tandem, gluing them together like magnets. Rick was hard, and desperate, and on the verge of ripping off her pants. Michonne was getting wetter and wetter, and she wanted to feel his lips and tongue around her hardened nipples so badly they ached, trapped inside her tanktop and bra.

"I need to be inside you, baby..." her old man issued a hushed grunt against her lips. "Please." He bucked into her, squeezing her thighs in his big hands.

Overcome with need, Michonne nodded sluggishly, reaching down to palm his erection. The feel of her slender fingers caressing his thick length through his jeans made Rick buckle over. He buried his face into her neck and crushed his eyes shut as she stroked him more intensely. She fingered his head through the black denim, driving him over the edge.

Rick sat up abruptly and pulled her sharply into him with a rough tug of her thighs. His pulsing bulge landed right against her center, and it was so hard Michonne had to bite her lip as the sheer anticipation of having him finally push into her sex washed over her. He was going to fill her to the brim - she felt the echoes of his stroke game reverberate through her with that one possessive tug that landed her ass against his pelvis.

There was a soft, but insistent knock on the bedroom door.

They froze, remembering that they were _supposed_ to be 'freshening up for dinner'.

The knock came again and then a familiar, benign voice: "It's Jesus. I brought gifts."

Rick raised an eyebrow at Michonne for the word 'gifts' but reluctantly climbed off of the bed. He took a deep breath and tried to tame his arousal before he walked over to open the door. He waited for Michonne to sit up and straighten her clothes before he did, keeping himself angled behind it in case Jesus had an inkling to look down.

Always highly perceptive of the energy in whatever environment he was entering, the slender, graceful man did not cross the threshold. A faint, knowing smirk touched the corners of his lips as his eyes catalogued first Michonne's unmistakable glow and hard breathing, then Rick's disheveled curls and flushed lips. He did not dare look down past Rick's torso.

So they'd made up - or were still in the process. Good.

Deciding not to take up too much of their time, Jesus held out the clothing he'd brought them. Rick eyed the dress, shirt, and jacket being offered to him, frowning. "Murdock will swear up and down that you're wearing this because he knows your tastes," Jesus addressed Michonne, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "But between you and me, _I_ picked this dress out for you. And something for you too, Rick. For all of you. Murdock likes dinner to really feel like _dinner_ in this house."

They both stared at him. He looked from one to the other, still holding out the garments from the piles and piles of clothes they'd collected on their runs. He sighed, deciding to explain himself.

"I can see how creepy this looks," he passed the clothes off to Rick, ran a hand through his blond hair, and folded his arms across his chest. Michonne thought he looked much younger when he wasn't swathed in all that leather. "We sort of hoard these things. Or at least - we did. The intent was to bring more people in, from anywhere we could find them, feed them, clothe them if they needed it, integrate them into the community, keep growing. But we've been...indefinitely delayed. Ever since…"

"Ever since what?" Rick forgot his arousal, holding the clothes to his body and hanging on Jesus's words.

Jesus regarded them both seriously. "Ever since the reason I brought you here stopped us. Get dressed. We have a lot to discuss."

He left them with that, and Rick slowly closed the door again, turning to face Michonne.

"You're right. They need us."

She nodded slowly. They lingered there, staring at each other, silently agreeing to get to the bottom of the the dark cloud looming over the Hilltop. Michonne rose to her feet as Rick finally looked down to examine the clothes Jesus had picked out. "Why the spectacle, I wonder…?" she asked as she eyed the long, flowy, floral green dress on the hanger in his hands.

"I dunno. Maybe to make us comfortable. Ease us into whatever it is they want from us." Rick shrugged, his eyes glinting with bitter amusement. "Murdock 'knows your tastes', though. Gotta hand it to 'im. He's smooth."

His amusement was bitter because he was still lingering on the past. He couldn't help wondering, despite knowing how useless it was, what his life would've been like if he had met Michonne long before this reality rose up to claim them. Part of him pictured her as a defense lawyer, sexy and intimidating and so out of his league he probably would never have worked up the gumption to make any moves on her.

But if they did, and he had, and it was _Michonne_ he'd been with when he woke up in that hospital bed...

He wouldn't give up Carl for anything, and never Judith now that he had her. But the fantasy of meeting Michonne while he was divorcing Lori, of having even just a year or two with her while slogging through all the drama his ex wife put him through, was so palpable it was hard to shake.

Michonne brought him back to the present, stepping up to him and leaning her forehead against his. "Hey. Where'd you go?"

Rick shook his head and exhaled slowly. "I'm here."

She smiled, remembering something he'd said to her the morning before. "'With a vengeance?'"

Just as she'd hoped, he chuckled raspily at her attempt to mimic his voice and drawl. Rick nodded and snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her into his side to nuzzle his mouth and chin along the soft skin of her neck. "With a vengeance…" he growled, kissing her, squeezing her, growing hard for her again.

"Good. Let's get dressed, cowboy. I'm hungry."

 _He_ was hungry for _her_ , but he relented as she reached for the dress in his other hand. Michonne held it up, looking at it fully for the first time since Jesus appeared with it. It was a summer dress, but it was elegant. It had spaghetti straps and a long flowing skirt. The base color was dark green, but the pattern adorning it was of gorgeous white and pink flowers that formed vines and clusters across the fabric. It was beautiful. And it was definitely something she would pick out for herself, way back when picking out something to wear for dinner was a thing people actually did.

By the time they'd cleaned themselves up and gotten dressed, the sun had gone down and the burgeoning sounds of nightfall wafted into the room through the open windows.

Rick emerged from the master bathroom attached to their room, wearing the crisp grey button-down shirt and ash-colored dinner jacket Jesus had given him. His hair was combed back and slicked down, the signs of a five o'clock shadow only making him look more handsome and rugged as he stood awkwardly in the bathroom doorway, his eyes shining.

Michonne looked absolutely breathtaking. She wore her dreads up out of her face, secured to the top of her head with loose locs she'd wrapped around a pile of them, just like the night before.

This dress was even sexier than the one she wore the night they made love for the first time. In a completely different way.

It fell across her body like a waterfall, but somehow managed to cling to all the curves that drove him crazy on the way down. Her breasts fit perfectly into the low-cut top of the dress, the slinky straps looking delectable enough to pull off of her shoulders with his teeth. And he knew he would before the night was over. He wanted to right now, in fact, but they had work to do.

They came to meet in the middle of the room, staring at each other up and down, breathing each other in.

Rick took a deep breath, centering himself in her scent and glowing skin as he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled.

Michonne came to him willingly, observing the crease in his brow as his gorgeous eyes rose to meet hers.

He needed to feel their connection again, physically, before they went down there to negotiate an unknown future. Their community needed food, and numbers, and sustainability. Murdock offered them that, at a price they could only guess with what little information they had. The need for weapons was not a good sign. After this point, there was no turning back. The new world was just beyond that bedroom door. Before they walked through it, Rick needed to know again, deep down in his bones, that nothing would come between them.

For her part, Michonne tried to think of something - anything she could do or say - to reassure him one last time. An idea popped into her head, and she smiled against his lips. Rick frowned and watched as she reached up to remove her ever-present gold 'M' charm necklace, which she was wearing underneath a necklace she'd found in the vanity area of this room. Giving him a cool, but meaningful look, his best friend and lover wrapped the delicate gold necklace around his wrist, above his watch. He watched her clasp it and tuck the little 'M' underneath the wristband of the watch, where he could feel the cool metal on his warm skin, a reminder that she was with him, through everything, no matter what shit storm befell them.

It was hidden from view, but he could feel it. Just between the two of them, yet stronger and more real than words. It was perfect. Satisfied, Michonne kissed his lips and stepped back.

"Let's eat."

He took her hand and led her to the door. They decided, without words, to stick close together through dinner, and whatever negotiations would take place after. To send a message to Murdock, and Jesus - and everyone.

Rick and Michonne were a fuckin' fortress. The new world had better beware.


	10. pilot fish

**this is a huge ice cream sunday.**

 **but i'm working hard on the cherry on top.**

 **updating very soon. enjoy.**

* * *

 _if he were triangular,_

 _she'd be rectangular_

 _and if it gets bloody,_

 _they'll plead before God together_

 _la belle et le bad boy,_

 _the rectangular triangle_

-M.C. Solaar, 'La Belle Et Le Bad Boy'

* * *

Maggie hovered by the door of Murdock's study, her young, pretty face set with grim determination.

Rick had given her a job.

She was gonna see it done.

As soon as she gathered her nerve.

She was wearing a simple, pretty black cocktail dress Jesus had given her right after her shower. Glenn was suspicious about the 'gift' - until he saw her in it. The elegant bib neck in front gave way to a scooped out back. The beaded skirt fell all the way down her legs to just below her ankles. There was a little makeup in the spacious, lavish bathroom in the hallway, where she'd cleaned up. It was old, and it wasn't much (just some ancient, rose-tinted blush and dried out mascara that she held under running water to get anything out of), but she made it work.

Her husband looked pretty handsome, himself. All cleaned up with his longish hair slicked back, revealing his boyish good looks like she hadn't seen in awhile.

Maggie smiled softly to herself as she remembered how Glenn had been unable to stop staring at her a few minutes ago. She loved the way he looked at her. Like she was the moon. He couldn't take his eyes - or his lips - off of her.

Just a few hours ago, they'd been sweaty and tense, bumping around in the back of the camper, headed to an unknown future. Now they were cleaned up, dressed very nicely, and headed down to dinner in a huge, elegant hilltop mansion with six bedrooms and a library. For whatever reason, that sharp change in circumstance seemed to turn Glenn on. Maggie could never resist him when he was like this.

She could've gone on making out with her sweet, handsome husband all night. As it happened, they'd been interrupted by a bored Daryl and Abraham and Maggie remembered she had a job to do. Their interruption gave her the opportunity to slip away and make her way down to Murdock's study.

As she went, she gazed around at all the old, fascinating decor. Now that she was dressed, she didn't feel quite so out of place. Even the wallpaper was more than met the eye; the rug lining the heavy hardwood flooring was beautifully hand-made; the walls had carvings in the corners of animal heads, stags and bears, and stuff like that. It would be creepy in here if she wasn't so charmed by it all. She would be the only kid paying attention if this had been on the field trip list at her school.

Maggie scoffed in mild wonder, staring around. School. That felt like ages and ages and ages ago.

Now she had to focus on the grim present. The mission at hand. Securing a stronger future for Alexandria, one that was sustainable, one where they could grow things.

Murdock needed to understand the gravity of their situation, but she had to do it in a way that would still give them leverage, in case he got stingy.

Maggie didn't quite know what to make of this man, but everything she'd seen up 'til now told her he really _was_ happy to see Michonne, and he really _did_ need their help. And _that_ gave them leverage.

She'd been real nervous that Rick was gonna blow his cool and force them into a deal that would send them home with nothing even close to what they needed. Thankfully, Michonne had calmed him down and Rick had wisely realized his bias, leading him to send Maggie in to start the negotiation on their behalf. It was better this way. Rick was volatile - and the jealous type, apparently - but he was no fool. He did everything for a reason.

So, she had better not let him down. She had sworn herself a leader of Alexandria. She had to get this done, for her people. And for the child growing inside her. Glenn's child.

Maggie let her hand rest lightly on her stomach, which was only just beginning to grow softer and rounder against her slender, yet curvy figure. She took a deep breath and steeled herself.

Once her cool, collected alter ego took over, Maggie knocked on the door of Murdock's study and waited.

"Come on in," came his deep voice from inside.

The young leader and compassionate warrior obliged, pushing the heavy door open silently and stepping inside. His study was gorgeous, of course. It looked like a library in here. Though she knew there was a much bigger one in this house somewhere, the volume of books in this room alone was immediately impressive.

It was sort of dark inside, but it made the room feel pleasantly cool. There were also lamps on either side of the sitting area, couched amongst the tall bookshelves on every wall.

Murdock was standing behind his desk, his back to her, leaning against his cane as he watched the little hilltop town below. ' _More like one of those old-timey settlements you used to see on the History Channel'_ , was the thought that sprang to Maggie's mind as they walked around the place, observing what his people had built here. They had a blacksmith for crying out loud. It was like the Wild West all over again.

"Maggie...right?" Murdock spoke up again when she got lost in her thoughts, looking around at the space. He turned his head slightly to acknowledge her, keeping his back to the room, still.

Maggie closed the door behind her and stepped further inside, now watching Murdock with a slight frown creasing her otherwise smooth brow. "Yes. And you're Murdock Gillette. From Houston. Right?"

Murdock let out a soft push of laughter through his nostrils, smiling. "So I guess Michonne _did_ talk about me?"

"Just a bit. It's been a while, she said."

"'Bout a decade, give or take…" He turned around to face her finally, glancing up at her and his warm smile spread. "But she still looks the same as I remember her. Funny how that happens with some people."

Maggie offered him a small smile but otherwise didn't react. She stood next to the settee near the door, her arms crossed, her expression serious. One thing Rick taught her was to never be distracted from her goal, even when it felt like "chit chat".

Murdock took a beat to get a read on the girl, and he could tell that she was brave, smart, focused, and truly concerned for her community. She wanted to get down to business, and he didn't blame her. What she didn't understand yet was that _this_ \- all of this - was very much part of the 'business'. Their alliance would not just be comprised of guns, crops, and dirty deeds. He wanted to start the world anew, and to do that he needed allies in community, family, and good will. It was what he and Jesus talked about when they first began to build this place. Not just surviving, but beginning to thrive as a society again. If it was only their goal to carry on breathing from day to day, what would be the point to life amidst all this death at all?

Maggie looked like someone who could appreciate that point of view. Maybe even fight for it.

He decided to not waste any more of her time. He gestured for her to sit, and he started walking around his desk to join her in one of the armchairs across from the settee.

She sat down carefully, attending to the dress as she did so and smoothing her hair down. He could tell, then, just how young she was, still. How long it must have been since she had any reason to dress this way, or try to attend an evening of even pseudo formality. "Sorry about springing the clothes on you," he replied as he set his cane aside, gesturing to his own dinner jacket and slacks. "Jesus likes for things to feel like...an occasion...when guests are in the house."

Maggie scoffed, smiling at him, her smoky blue-green eyes glinting in the lamplight. "That's funny, he said that was _you_."

Murdock had to chuckle at his lover's cheekiness. "Of course he ratted me out. Well, I gotta admit...I'm trying to impress Michonne. How am I doing?"

The pretty young woman shook her head slowly at him. "You're kidding, right?"

"That badly, huh?"

"I don't think it's Michonne you should be worried about right now."

Murdock immediately took her meaning. The ghost of the intense man in the corduroy traveling jacket with the radiant blue eyes hovered around them for a moment as they stared at each other. "But you _do_ think I should be worried?"

Maggie took a moment to think about her answer. She could attempt to use the obvious tension around Rick and Murdock, but at the end of the day, it didn't matter who Murdock was. Rick was not the man to mess with. He was the man to get the job done.

"Not sayin' that. But Michonne _is_ right about somethin'. Rick's the man you need. Our group?" She leaned forward slightly in her comfortable position against the arm of the settee. She held his gaze, wanting him to see that she may be young, but she was not shy, or easily intimidated. "We didn't just _happen_ to survive. We fought for it...by any means necessary."

Murdock folded his hands together across his lap, impressed. He believed her. He could see it in all their eyes. Even Michonne's. And especially in the eyes of Rick Grimes.

"But fighting isn't all you can do, is it, Maggie?" She frowned, but he smiled gently, not wishing to raise her guard. "Jesus says you grow things." He gestured with his eyes to her hands, and her stomach. Maggie remained silent. "You want to help your community, but to do that you _need_ to grow things. That's the key to survival. The old leftovers of the dead aren't gonna last forever. And the supply isn't exactly meeting the demand these days."

"That's right. We need to know how you're maintainin' your crops." Maggie whispered, her eyes glued to his and deadly serious. "And we need at least half of what you've raised to keep us goin' another six months."

She sighed, looking down at her worn hands. Hands that spent hours and hours digging through the earth. Then her gaze traveled to her pregnant stomach.

"And I'd like to see your Doctor Corday." She finally looked up to meet his gaze again. "Regularly. I need an ultrasound, along with any prenatal vitamins you have that you can spare."

Murdock nodded, and now he leaned forward to rest his forearms against his legs. To Maggie, he looked like an old pop just then, someone uninterested in playing games. If he was trying to get her to let her guard down, he had that going for him. And Michonne's word that he was good.

"Even if I didn't desperately need your help, I would give you what you asked for. I told you, Michonne is like family to me. Just the fact that you brought Jesus to her is worth all of that, and more."

His expression became very grave, and Maggie hung on his every word. "But before you accept my offer, you should know the price."

The silence in the study was only disturbed by the faint sounds of life outside his cracked windows. Of course this would not be as easy as a simple trade. There would be a price to pay, alright.

"Go on…" she nodded slightly, bracing herself.

"Hilltop has no fighters because most of them were either taken and converted or killed," he said grimly. "And the very few that remain keep their survival skills carefully hidden, especially Jesus."

"Why?" Maggie demanded, her heart pounding.

"Because any resistance is met with swift punishment - death. Brutal, sickening, _public_ death, Maggie. There are far more of them than there are of us. We're constantly being watched out in the open, but we never know when. I guarantee you they know about your community. They will come after you. Soon.

"The only question is: _Will you help me strike at them before they know what hit them?_ Before they have a chance to do to you what they did to the Hilltop, and two other communities before us?"

Murdock leaned further toward her, needing her to really hear what he was asking. To feel the weight of it. To bring that weight, and the gravity of what they were risking, to her leader.

"Is Rick ready to go to war with me to feed his community?"

"We've been in war before." She answered confidently, thinking of the Governor, and Terminus.

Murdock nodded, but he pressed his point still further. "What's he willing to _do_ , Maggie? For the greater good? For your safety? His family's?"

Maggie had to smile slowly at his question. Murdock may have been able to read her, but he had a lot to learn about Rick Grimes.

"Rick will do anything for us." She said, so matter-of-factly it took him slightly off guard. It was her turn to lean forward, to make her voice as grave as his had been. " _Anything_. Especially to protect his family."

Murdock smiled softly at her, accepting her declaration that her leader was as loyal and brave as he'd hoped, despite his more prickly traits. "So...what do you think my next move should be?"

She tilted her head at the earnest tone to his deep voice. He shrugged, leaning back in his seat.

"This is my first time leading a community of endangered species. Jesus may be sure of himself, but…I'm afraid I need a little advice, sometimes. Even from strangers." The look in his eyes made Maggie relax a little bit. He seemed like a genuinely good guy. A survivor, but not in the ways that Rick was. He was persuasive. He thought beyond the moment. She could see what a toll that had taken. And why it made him so charismatic and bred to outsmart his demise. No wonder Jesus had Bambi eyes for him. The two of them were quite a team.

She offered him another thoughtful smile, finally letting her guard down. "Me, too." They both chuckled at the absurdity of their current reality. Maggie gathered herself and sighed, tucking a lock of her soft brown hair behind her ear. "I'd say your best bet? Be honest. Rick has a low tolerance for bullshit. And if what you say is really how it is...then we don't have a choice. You, either. We _have_ to work together."

Murdock considered her for a long while, and then finally he offered her his hand. Maggie took it. It was much bigger than hers, and stronger, but she matched his grip as best she could. They shook.

"Let's hope we both get what we want out of this, Maggie. For the sake of _everyone's_ survival."

"Agreed." She answered him resolutely. Now it was time for dinner. And to enlist Rick Grimes to do what he did best. Protect. Build. Fight. For all their sakes.

* * *

Abraham shook his head in wonder, dusting off his hand-me-down dinner jacket. It was a bit too snug, but hell it was clean, so he wasn't complaining.

He tucked a fresh cigar into the inner pocket and chuckled.

"What's funny?" Glenn asked from his leaning position against the railing at the foot of the grand staircase. He had his hands tucked in his pockets, looking as bored and impatient for news or movement as Abe and Daryl felt.

Abe glanced up at the second floor landing, wary of their boss lurking around within earshot. He had a feeling, though, that Rick was probably so wrapped up in his lady he'd be hard pressed to notice an earthquake. "Rick and Michonne humpin' bugglies all this time…" he rasped, grinning impishly. "How long you think he's been tappin' that?"

Glenn didn't even pretend to think. He shook his head, squinting at Abraham with incredulity marring his Teen Dream good looks. "No idea."

Daryl rolled his eyes as he paced back and forth behind Abraham, looking the most uncomfortable in his evening attire of them all. "What's it matter, man?" He grunted, tugging impatiently on his tie. He didn't even know why he bothered with the stupid thing. Something about this big ass house and Jesus's weird butler act made him feel like he was supposed to, like making sure you were wearing a clean shirt and some respectable shoes when you went to church.

Abraham turned to face him, unconvinced of his disinterest. "Tell me somethin', then: You think _now's_ really the time for any of us to be distracted by settlin' down?"

Daryl stopped pacing long enough to glare at Abraham meaningfully. "You think shit's settled?"

Glenn stood up straight, now offended by both of them. "What's that shit supposed to mean?"

Daryl blinked, remembering Glenn and Maggie's current...situation. He shrugged. "We got a long way to go before all's said and done with, that's all."

"Yeah, maybe we do." Glenn granted him, but he did not back down. "But that's why we're here. To make sure it gets done. Together."

"Some of us have a wee bit more at stake than others, amigo…" Abe said somberly. "That's my point. Distraction like that messes with a man's head. Both of 'em."

Glenn fixed the big man with a resolute gaze. "What they have isn't a distraction, okay? It's exactly what makes all this _worth a damn_. It's why Maggie's in there _right now_ , trying to keep us fed. Rick knows that. Maybe you should learn, too."

Neither man replied. Both caught his meaning, though. Loud and clear. Daryl found himself thinking of Carol. Wondering what she was doing, finding that deep down he wanted to be back home with her right now - or to have her here, at his side, like Glenn had Maggie and Rick had Michonne. Abraham thought about Rosita. And he thought about the passion, certainty, and love behind Glenn's words. He knew he didn't feel any of that. Not for her. What he felt instead was guilt. Gnarly, unrelenting, twisty-turny guilt. And it was one hell of a distraction. He was gonna need to put some ointment on _that_ rash, with the quickness.

They heard movement at the top of the stairs, and every man looked up to see Rick and Michonne descending, hand in hand.

None of them could take their eyes off Michonne, with the exception of Glenn, who refused to gawk at her. He acknowledged how stunning she was and quickly looked away.

And Michonne _was_ stunning.

Her deep, smooth skin went so perfectly with the long, flowing green dress that it looked like a mirage. None of them had ever seen her with her hair like that. The updo revealed the graceful slopes of her neck and shoulders while making her face look softer, more regal. Abraham had never noticed how slight, yet curvy she was until he got a good look at her slim figure wrapped in that waterfall of a dress. Her curves were lean, toned, and _damned_ _elegantly_ _put together_. And her skin...well that was somethin' else. Words couldn't describe how soft it looked, and neither Daryl nor Abraham wanted to be caught trying to figure them out. She was a beautiful woman. No man standing there could deny the simple truth of it with her looking like this, not one iota.

For all their own different, but very good reasons - and one big common one that carried a Colt Python wherever he went - the three men left it at that.

Their leader simply walked confidently beside her, holding her hand loosely in his. Jesus had dressed him in dark ash gray, and it suited him. Something gold and delicate glinted at them from his wrist under the lights in the chandelier as they descended.

Rick allowed Michonne to step down onto the landing before him, then joined their little group at the foot of the stairs.

"Nicely done, folks." Abraham complimented them. Michonne gave a tiny little roll of her eyes but she at least smiled.

"You guys, too." She replied awkwardly, but Abe stood a little straighter in response.

Rick fixed him with a patient look, reaching up to rub his salt and pepper fuzz with his free hand. That shiny, delicate thing glinted at them again as he did so. "Yeah, well...Murdock's house, Murdock's rules. We'll go along for now, but _everyone_ \- " Rick, his demeanor all business, leaned into their semi-circle as Daryl sauntered over to join them, " - don't get too comfortable. We stay on our guard, understood?"

He looked over at Michonne, who still held his hand firmly, but who also held his gaze meaningfully as he straightened up.

"At least...until we're _all_ agreed it's safe." He added, and she gave him the tiniest nod of gratitude. Rick squeezed her hand. He was trying. For her. As long as she was by his side, they'd get through the evening without having to clean up a mess, diplomatic or otherwise.

Daryl, Abraham, and Glenn accepted Rick's rule, but they also looked to Michonne for the final word. "Let's just hear them out. I've got a good feeling about this…"

"Is that a good feelin' Alexandria's about to hit the jackpot?" Abraham spoke up, getting serious for a change. "Or a good feelin' that we're all in deep shit?"

Before Michonne could retort, Jesus spoke up from behind their huddle.

"I'd say a little bit of both, actually."

They all turned to find him also dressed for dinner, his long, dark blond hair falling over his shoulder and his blue eyes glinting. He wore tweed pants, pretty nice brown oxfords, a clean white button-down shirt and a striking burgundy vest that looked like it was made of deep, rich velvet. None of them quite knew what to make of this version of him, but none of them were all that surprised as they got a good look at him. He was smirking softly, as usual.

"Well, don't you all clean up nice?"

He was impressed. He had a bit of a vision when he picked out their clothes, but he'd done a much better job than he'd thought. Even Daryl looked civilized (and quite handsome), though admittedly uncomfortable in his black vest and tie. And Michonne, as he'd predicted, looked absolutely breathtaking. Rick was indeed a modern day cowboy, leaning unconsciously into her side, holding her hand. The dark gray of his jacket and shirt brought out the stunning blue in his eyes, which, at the moment, were both scrutinizing and slightly amused.

The group simply stared at him like he was Igor, hunchback and all. He chuckled and shook his head, not blaming them one bit. His mission now was to loosen them up. They all needed it.

" _Okay_...tough crowd. Dinner will be ready, soon. 'Doc and Maggie will be down in a moment. I think this might be a good time for a drink. Michonne?" Jesus offered her his arm and waited patiently for her to accept it, his gaze benign.

Michonne was skeptical of his showmanship, but she decided to go along with it. She gave Rick's hand one last squeeze, and he let her go to take Jesus's arm. Together they led the group through to the rest of the first floor of the house, and it _was_ impressive.

It went around like a big u-turn. The foyer was flanked by the sitting room and the grand dining room. Below the stairs, a hallway led back to the a billiard room, a 'brandy room', the library, the tiny hall stair closet leading down to the servants quarters, and finally back around to the dining room, which led back out to the foyer.

He showed them the library. It was cavernous. It held more books than Michonne thought a person could read in a lifetime, let alone take the time to find and collect. It was old but it was well kept. Jesus explained that as a state museum, this centuries-old mansion had once been subject to regular care. People used to be able to actually check books out from the estate's private collection.

As he led them around, her arm in his, he took a moment to study Michonne under the warm lights lining the walls. "You look beautiful, by the way. And the dress is yours to keep."

"Is all this dressing up and playing 'Clue' part of your master plan?" She ignored the compliment.

He chuckled softly. He liked the way she interrogated him. He could admit that he had a touch of drama about him, especially since she seemed to have no qualms about calling him on it. "You mean, do I aim to see a return to civilization? Do I believe peace comes from taking a moment to notice how beautiful this world still is? How beautiful _human beings_ can still be?" Jesus held her gaze, his expression earnest and serious. "Yes, I do. And besides...we all need to take a deep breath before what's coming, if tonight goes the way we both hope it does. Dining room's this way."

Rick watched and listened from behind, giving Michonne her space to do her thing. Glenn, Abraham, and Daryl looked around the place, their guard up even while their stomachs growled.

Finally, Jesus led them past the kitchen, where he refused to show them what he'd been making, and into the grand dining room. They could smell it, though. Daryl was convinced he smelled a good chunk of what used to be one of their cows cookin' up. And it smelled _good_.

The dining room was just as ridiculously large and elegant as the rest of the place.

It was surrounded by bay windows that were boarded with white shutters. The table was long, massive, and carved out of some heavy, old wood. Easily a dozen chairs were situated along it, with one chair at the head position on both ends. Three candelabras lined the table, all lit with mismatched candles. Long green ones, or short white ones or skinny red ones, and some fashioned into shapes (there was a Christmas tree and a Mother Mary). Glenn's guess was whatever they could scrounge up to produce enough light when they needed it. He was willing to bet they rationed use of their generators to keep enough electricity flowing to accommodate both this big ass house and the little village of FEMA trailers outside.

Jesus let go of Michonne and went straight for the large, vintage bar cabinet at the opposite side of the room, nestled between two tall, shuttered bay windows. There was a big old mirror situated in the back of the cabinet, right at Abraham's height. They could all finally see each other for themselves, reflected in that mirror as Jesus rummaged through the cabinet. He was right. They hadn't seen themselves looking so nice in a long, long time. The sight of it did something to them all...made them think of how things used to be...how things _could_ be again, if they could open their minds and roll up their sleeves.

"Turns out, this place was _well_ stocked long before we arrived…." Jesus was telling them as he stood upright, holding two bottles of different kinds of delight in either hand. In his left, he held a bottle of bordeaux with a very old label. In his right, a bottle of scotch that also looked ancient. Abraham's mouth watered and Glenn raised his eyebrows with appreciation as he stared at the labels. "The Barringtons collected this stuff from all over the world, right into the thirties, and they left some of it behind." He explained, holding both bottles under the candle light, admiring how it glimmered and bounced off of the contents within.

The group slowly made their way across the room, along the long dining table, towards him.

He held up the wine. "This _Chateau Latour_ is at least a hundred years old…and _this_ …" Jesus held up the bottle of scotch, now. "Well, this is single malt distilled in the Highlands...dated 1924."

"Sweet, buttery Jesus…" Abraham whispered reverently, utterly impressed, and a little turned on, if he were honest with himself.

Jesus smirked at the big man's interesting evocation of his name. "The _Latour_ for dinner, I think. And after...we'll open this scotch. You can do the honors, Abraham."

" _Righteous_." Abe readily agreed, drawing looks from Rick, Glenn, and Daryl. He ignored them. It was single malt from the Motherland, he couldn't refuse that. One glass of that stuff was worth this whole dog and pony show. He'd gladly wear dead people's clothes all night and eat anything Jesus put on his plate, so long as at the end of it, he got to wrap his beggin' lips around a glass of aged scotch.

Jesus winked at him and disappeared into the shelf again to fetch glasses for them all.

"Can you even drink wine that old?" Glenn asked, frowning with dim suspicion as Jesus sat their glasses down on the table in a circle.

"Sure." Michonne spoke up, to everyone's surprise. "I mean, the fruit sort of...fizzles out after a while."

"Which can be good or very, very _bad…_ " Jesus supplied, staring at Michonne thoughtfully. He waited for her to continue, his eyes glinting with interest.

"But, I read that with the really good ones, there are so many flavors and aromas all happening at once, and they stay there, in your mouth, long after you swallow the last drop." Michonne said softly.

Rick saw something in her eyes...a touch of delight, or whimsy...it made her look so different to him that he had to blink to be sure he wasn't seeing things again. He hung on her every word as she continued, picking up the bottle and examining it under the flickering candle lights. They all did.

She stared at the liquid sloshing around in the bottle, suddenly remembering that she had loved wine, a long time ago, it felt like. She drank it like a ritual. So long ago.

"Imagine burnt sugar...treacle...butterscotch...maple syrup, hazelnuts, and a hundred other things you can't even name. All perfectly preserved." She bit her lip and offered the bottle to Jesus. When he was slow to take it, still watching her, she noticed that everyone was staring at her.

Rick had never been more attracted to her, watching her face light up and listening to the sexy lilt of her smooth voice as she described the flavors she was imagining with such sensuality. It was all he could do to suppress a hard-on. For everyone else huddled around the end of the large table, it had simply been a side to Michonne that they couldn't recall ever really seeing. They'd seen her smiling, sure, but not like this. Like a different person. But the same. It was weird and intriguing.

Daryl thought maybe it was the clothes. He shrugged awkwardly. "Well let's crack that fucker open, then. Give it a shot. Hell, I bet my brother's moonshine's worse than some dried up old wine."

The spell was broken and Jesus happily obliged. He opened the wine and poured a glass for each of them. Then he raised his, and after a moment the group did the same. "To the new world."

They touched glasses, and Rick caught Michonne's gaze as they all took sips of the exquisite wine. Her beautiful face was illuminated perfectly in the candlelight, her lips moistened and tinted deep red by the wine. She lowered her glass and licked her lips, making him yearn to taste the wine from them. "It's really goddamned good…" she whispered.

Rick lowered his glass and licked his own lips, agreeing with her. The sweet, yet spicy taste of it washed across his tongue and slithered down into his chest. It tasted like every bit of the history it posessed. And maybe even some of those exact flavors she described so vividly. It was heady, and thick, like Michonne's lips. He couldn't take his eyes off of her. Without thinking about it, he stepped closer to her, intent on kissing the wine from her lips, not caring who was watching.

But her eyes shifted to the door behind him, and he paused.

"I see we made it right on time. Jesus finally opened that _Latour_." They heard Murdock's voice from the doorway, and everyone turned to see him standing with Maggie, who also looked stunning in a long black dress and lightly blushed cheeks set under a curtain of full lashes.

The first thing Rick did was assess Maggie's expression and demeanor. She seemed relaxed, but still serious. There was no obvious tension between her and Murdock, which meant that things had gone well. He knew he could count on her to get them exactly what they needed. Now it was up to him to see them through whatever the job was at hand.

Maggie joined Glenn while Jesus fetched her something non-alcoholic to drink. When he returned, he handed her a glass of dark brown liquid with chunky ice clinking around inside and an apple slice perched on the rim. Maggie frowned as she accepted it, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Is this…?"

Jesus smiled proudly. "Sweet iced tea? Yes."

Maggie's face lit up and she immediately went in for an indulgent sip. She swallowed and closed her eyes, licking her lips. She hadn't tasted home brewed sweet iced tea in so long. "You _made_ this? From scratch?"

"I make a lot of things. I'll tell you my secret later." Jesus replied, and Murdock had to chuckle.

His young lover _was_ talented. He had brought them all together, had managed to find the one person in this world Murdock would choose to reunite with if by some miracle, and in so doing, had given them a real chance at escaping Negan's terrible rule for good.

The Hilltop leader looked around at his guests, his eyes landing on Michonne. The heavy wind of time and familiarity blew right through him, looking at her. She looked like his old 'Chonne again, her skin so soft and aglow. Holding a glass of wine. He remembered shipping her wines from all over the world, everywhere he traveled. She looked like she remembered it too as she gazed at him over the rim of her glass. Then he eyes shifted to her man Rick, rugged and serious, standing right next to her. They were all sipping their wine with appreciative surprise, and they were all dressed finely, but none of them (save Michonne and Jesus) seemed very relaxed. Especially not Rick Grimes. He determined to himself that he would change that, with time. For now, they had hard business to attend to.

Murdock made his way to the wine bottle and poured himself a glass with his free hand.

He raised it, gently inhaling the scent of the century-old bordeaux. It smelled intoxicatingly complex, and delicious. He took a long swallow and set his glass down, meeting Rick's steady gaze again. "Alright. Let's get down to business, shall we?"

Jesus stood up straighter, the mirth disappearing from his eyes. Murdock sent him a glance and he nodded slightly. "I'll be back with dinner. Everyone, please make yourselves comfortable."

Everyone looked to Rick, who nodded for them to take their seats. The group gathered at the table, one by one sitting down.

Murdock took up the head of the table by the mirrored cabinet, leaving a seat open to his right for Jesus while Michonne took the seat to his left, Rick easing into the one right next to hers after pulling it out for her and tucking her in. As soon as he sat down, he reached out for her under the table. She crossed her legs under his caressing hand as she slipped one of hers under the table too, lacing her slender fingers in between his thick, strong ones. He was able to relax a little, with her hand in his. Maggie and Glenn sat across from Rick and Daryl, with Abraham taking the odd man's chair next to Daryl. They all tucked in and turned to regard Murdock at the head of the table.

Their host rested his cane against his side of the table and sat back in his chair, his dark eyes landing once again on Rick and Michonne. His expression was serious, but his eyes were shining. Michonne knew that look. It rose up to the surface from the deep, dark bottom of an ocean of blocked memories. He used to wear that look when there was trouble in the neighborhood, when times were hard. That old hope. Hope that even though everything was shit, they might somehow make it out okay. She had learned it from him, and her mother reinforced it in both of them every chance she got. Two peas in a pod, they used to be. This really _was_ her Murdock. Maybe he hadn't changed as much as she feared.

But he was in a terrible bind, she could see it plainly. Whatever it was he wanted from them, he didn't look as though asking it of them was easy for him.

That concerned her. They listened as he began to speak.

"I offered Maggie half of our current food stock, our farming blueprints, access to our doctor and medical supplies, along with one of our cows and one of our horses. Plus free trade, every six months, with the Hilltop and two other communities." He sighed as they all reacted to his matter-of-fact statement. For them all, it was more than they thought they'd get. It meant a real start to something sustainable. Something they could count on. Maggie gazed at him with a somber smile, grateful for his generosity, but knowing what was coming next. "In exchange for your help." Murdock continued, his eyes locked on Rick's, then in turn Michonne's, as he spoke. "I need your weapons, your fighters, and _your tactical mind,_ Rick."

"For what, exactly?" Rick asked the man, his eyes darting from Murdock's to Maggie's.

Maggie held Rick's gaze, _her_ eyes big, round, and intense. "The Wolves aren't our only threat..." she said quietly.

Rick sat up in his seat and Michonne squeezed his hand as he turned back to glare at Murdock, seeking an explanation. Murdock nodded, taking a sip of his wine and another deep breath. "Maggie tells me you've been attacked by them. I'm sorry." He shook his head, sitting his glass down again. "But that confirms it - you're next."

"Next for _what_?" Michonne demanded in a low, urgent voice. The icy grip of alarm was beginning to take hold of her as she read the look of heavy dismay clouding Murdock's handsome features.

"Next for Negan." Maggie answered for Murdock.

"Who the fuck is Negan?" Abraham grunted quietly, gripping his wine glass, riveted.

Rick had heard Maggie but his attention remained fixed on Murdock. "Negan is the one we should all be worried about. You see, the Wolves _are_ crazy and dangerous. And they do a lot of damage. But what you don't understand...what you haven't _begun_ to understand...is that compared to what's coming next, they're nothing but pilot fish."

"Pilot fish?" Glenn sat forward in his chair, his heart pounding. He thought he knew what Murdock was getting at, and it was rattling the shit out of him. He darted his eyes from their host to his leader. The look on Rick's face told Glenn that he was onto the same omen. "Shit, man. That means something much _bigger_ and more _dangerous_ is coming next."

"Someone speak American." Abe demanded, sitting his glass down before he broke it with his iron grip, his eyes darting from Rick to Murdock to Glenn and back again.

"Pilot fish, dumb ass…" Daryl growled in a low voice, staring at Murdock. "They swim with big fuckin' sharks, feedin' off their leftovers. Lemme guess - " he addressed their host, now, his voice tinged with aggression, " - this dude Negan's the fuckin' shark and we're gonna be tomorrow's leftovers, _right_ ' _Doc?_ "

"He's the reason you don't have weapons." Rick deduced, ignoring Daryl and continuing to stare Murdock down, his right hand firmly gripping Michonne's while his other was balled up on the table next to his wine glass. "Or fighters. He's who you're afraid of. Who is he?"

"Maybe we should start from the beginning, 'Doc…" Jesus's voice came from the doorway. They all smelled the food he'd brought with him before they turned to see him rejoining them, wheeling a serving cart behind him. He didn't pause what he was doing as he continued: "They need to know the whole story to really understand. But first..."

With that, he began to serve them, removing the top from the largest tray in the center of his cart - the one that smelled the most delectable of everything else there. Maggie's eyes went as big as saucers when she saw that he had unveiled a platter of real, actual roast beef. It was juicy, and tender, and it was surrounded by roasted carrots, tomatoes, and real potatoes. He removed the tops from the rest of his dishes, revealing fruit, homemade cheese, and buttered sorghum rolls. Except this was no acorn butter. This had been churned by hand and made with milk.

Everyone was distracted by the food as he filled their plates before their hungry eyes, then took his place at Murdock's side across from Michonne. He tucked his napkin into his vest and took a sip from his wine.

" _Bon appetit_." He said proudly, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he had prepared all this himself.

They dug in, all of them in awe of the deliciously-cooked meat, vegetables and bread with real, melted butter. Maggie could taste that the vegetables and fruit were practically fresh out of the dirt, and full of natural flavor. The meat had been cut and cured by hand, and seasoned with dried garden herbs. It made her yearn to see their garden, their crops, their livestock - everything. She chewed indulgently, gazing at her husband with hope in her eyes. _This_ was how they should be eating in Alexandria. That reality was so close they could literally taste it.

Daryl thought of Carol. She'd cream herself if she could taste this roast beef. Hell, the whole thing had her name written all over it. She'd kill for the ingredients and supplies to make a meal this damned good. Abe sipped his wine, dug into his meal, and tried to pretend he was used to this. Truth was, he'd totally forgotten what this kind of thing was even like. It would be totally overwhelming if it weren't so damned delicious.

Rick took several bites of roast beef, closing his eyes to savor it. It was good. Very good. It tasted like home, there was no other way to describe it. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment, and then he felt Michonne's fingers caressing his in her lap under the table. He looked up at her gorgeous silhouette as she closed her eyes too and took a bite of roasted carrot. And just like that, Rick was mesmerized again, pausing to watch her chew and swallow. When she was done enjoying her morsel, she turned to gaze back at him. They stared at each other, the comfortable, unabashed gleam of affection and intimacy mirrored in their eyes. He could see years ahead, and many meals like this, holding hands, listening after their kids. And he found, as suddenly and as certainly as he did when he realized he was in love with her, that he wanted that to become a reality so badly it hurt. And he determined to _make it happen_ , somehow, some way. That was his thing. That was what he did. He got shit done. Speaking of which...Rick sighed after a beat, remembering that they weren't at the table alone, and they still needed answers. The food was delicious, but it only served to remind him that there was a price to pay for them to eat this well.

His gaze shifted from Michonne to Murdock and Jesus. Both the Hilltop leader and his right hand man sensed Rick's eyes on them, and they both turned to him almost simultaneously. Rick put his fork down, swallowing his last bite of roast beef.

"Jesus said to start at the beginning. Said we needed to understand." He drawled, causing the others to gradually stop eating and pay attention. "We're listening."

Murdock put his napkin down and nodded. Jesus watched him, his brow furrowed, as Murdock spoke next. "We'd already been trading with two other communities for at least a year when the first signs of a group called The Saviors started appearing."

"Negan's their leader." Rick supplied, putting two and two together from what Murdock said earlier.

Jesus and Murdock nodded.

"Who are these other groups?" Michonne asked, rooting herself in the feel of Rick's strong, warm hand wrapped around hers in her lap.

"About eighty or so set up camp out near Cape Charles. Some from all the way down in Louisiana, some they picked up along the way." Jesus supplied. Maggie and Glenn exchanged looks. If people had managed to hold up camp out by the cape, that meant they could possibly trade for things they hadn't had in a long while, including fish. "And sixty-three folks, mostly women, in Washington. Odetta and Bishop's people. They're all…different." Jesus raised his eyebrows, his twinkling eyes flickering to Murdock's as he spoke. His expression quickly sobered, however. "But all _good_. They didn't deserve what they got."

"None of us did." Murdock retorted.

"So, what the hell happened?" Daryl demanded softly, leaning over his unfinished meal.

"The Wolves - the pilot fish?" Jesus explained, frowning at the use of so many nicknames in one conversation. "They work for The Saviors. Negan gives them free reign and pretty much leaves them be. In return, they sniff out any group who dares to build a community."

"They infiltrate them, hack them to pieces, leave whatever's left for Negan." Murdock finished for Jesus, his eyes fixed on the table.

"First…" Jesus took a deep breath, his pale blues clouded with the memories his words conjured, "they found Sam and the others down at the cape. There were almost a hundred of them at first, but they let in walkers before they came. By the time the Wolves were done, there were only eighty-four, with...little ones on the way. Then Negan came...with his Saviors...a few weeks later."

Jesus raised his eyes to Murdock's.

"Soon after that, Bishop came and told us they'd been hit up in Washington. Same thing. First the Wolves...then the Saviors. She warned us. We were next."

Everyone sat listening, riveted, as the two men took turns speaking, telling their grim story.

"As the story goes, The Saviors started out as some...anarchist militia gang that took advantage of every opportunity for survival they could, in the most brutal and merciless of fashions." Jesus recounted for a silent, attentive audience. "No one knows where exactly they're from. All over. They grew. Evil attracts evil, I guess. But they were petty, they didn't think of the future."

"Until they met Negan." Murdock continued. "When he took over, hatred was no longer an excuse. They became focused on domination, not just chaos. What slavery looks like at the end of the world. " Their host smiled bitterly.

"We thought we could somehow...prepare ourselves. Defend ourselves." Jesus said somberly, his eyes fixed on Murdock's now pensive face. "We were wrong. They came for us, last winter."

"First the Wolves." Murdock said, his eyes rising to meet his lover's.

"Then the Saviors…." Rick finished, watching them both carefully. "They spread out. Recruited. They got organized; patient.

"What did they _do to you_?" Michonne demanded.

Jesus looked away from Murdock finally, meeting her gaze. Everyone at the table hovered on his every word. Rick's heart was pounding. This was going to be bad, he could feel it. But that wasn't all it was. This was going to be _them_ , next.

"Well, the Wolves watched us for weeks, found weaknesses in our defenses and snuck in, in the middle of the night." The young man told him, then he sighed, glancing at Murdock again, who seemed to have become lost in thought. Or stuck reliving what happened to them. "They murdered over a dozen of us. At least one child." Heavy tension seemed to be weighing down the air in the room as Jesus continued, his voice becoming softer and more serious the more he spoke. "Then, not a month later, Negan and the Saviors showed up. They killed even more of us before Negan introduced himself. He made us watch him beat a man to death. Said we needed to know, 'right off the bat', who we were dealing with."

"Lucille. That's what he calls the bat. She's how I got this cane," Murdock finally spoke, reaching over to grasp his cane, staring down at it. "I tried to protect the young man Negan killed." He scoffed. "Asked him to take me instead. All Negan did was hit me over and over again until he broke my leg. Then...he finished what he'd started on Joey. Beat his brains out. Kid was twenty-two years old…"

Murdock tried to shake away the memory of poor Joey's head splattered all over the lawn of the hill house. But Rick was thinking of it, too. Though no one said a damned word, they all were.

"They took every weapon we had, and all our ammo. Now, they take half of our food stock and supplies. Every few months. As payment, for not killing the rest of us." Jesus informed them, snapping Rick out of his gruesome thoughts. "So, as you can imagine, we haven't been able to trade. Or take anyone in. We're at a standstill. One that we can't sustain."

"If this keeps goin', Hilltop is in the same boat as us," Maggie spoke up.

She knew that Jesus must have drained a lot of their supplies to make this meal, to make them feel welcome. And to give them the the best picture he could of what exactly it was they were losing, with each passing day, like sand slipping through an hourglass: Any hope for a future. Everyone in her group turned to her. She spoke to Rick.

"Same for the group in the cape. Same for Odetta's people up in Washington. We're pretty much stealin' Negan's next payment if we take this deal."

Rick turned back to Murdock, who nodded solemnly in confirmation. "Maggie's right." He admitted, leaning back in his chair wearily, gazing at Rick as he folded his hands together. "Like I said, Rick - this can't be a one-time thing. We trade with you, we're going to need protection."

The former sheriff scoffed, gesturing to the ceiling with his free hand. "It's not like we have a choice, according to you. We walk away, and _then_ what? Negan and his Saviors come to slaughter us in a matter of weeks?" He bit his lip and shook his head at Murdock. Michonne watched their exchange carefully, her hand still in his. "Nah, you need a lot more than protection."

"We need you to help us take Negan out." Jesus spoke up, addressing both Rick and Michonne. "And, yes...you could take our food, keep your weapons, hunker down and wait the Saviors out, but...like you said, they travel, they're organized and patient...and there are a lot more of them than there are of you."

"If we're going to stop them, we have to do it together." Murdock agreed. "And we have to do it soon."

"Our best bet is to hit them before they know we're coming," Michonne uttered, the whispers of a plan starting in her head. "Flush them out somehow."

Jesus sat forward in his seat, his eyes glinting. "They may know about your community, but they don't know you and I have ever met. Not yet. We still have some time."

Rick tapped his thumb against the table, his other hand tightening its grip on Michonne's underneath it. His eyes rose to hers as he considered this plan. It was risky, but it could work. They'd gotten out of much closer situations with lower odds of survival, both with and without the benefit of seeing it coming. The risk to their people weighed him down, but the prize - a new lease on life, the foundations for a new world with prosperity instead of danger at every turn - was worth it. Michonne's gaze was full of nothing but faith, and determination. Rick could not resist them, nor the feel of her soft fingers entwined with his against her thigh. He made up his mind and nodded.

"Then that gives us the advantage," he added simply, turning to give Daryl, Glenn, Maggie, and Abraham the signal that they would accept the deal. "We'll supply the weapons; put our best fighters on it."

Daryl nodded. "This guy sounds like a boogie man, anyway. He's got a bat and some crazy metheads. We got a rocket launcher. We can take 'im."

"Damned skippy, we'll _ghost_ those motherfuckers." Abraham agreed solemnly.

"Are you absolutely sure about this, Rick?" Murdock asked, frowning with uncertainty despite everyone else's enthusiasm for what they all very well knew was akin to war.

Rick turned back to Murdock, considering him. Michonne stroked his hand and he shrugged, fully aware of what they were all capable of. "Confrontation's never been somethin' we've had a problem with."

Murdock had to smile sadly. He took in the sight of this group of fighters gathered around his table, with Michonne and Rick heading them up. Maggie watched him carefully, and he acknowledged her. She'd been right. Honesty was the best policy with Rick, and he did appear willing to do whatever it took.

Besides, Murdock had not failed to notice how physically attached he seemed to be to Michonne. He did not let go of her, he stood by her almost unconsciously. Murdock hadn't seen anything like it. She was a good influence on him, the Hilltop leader could tell, like she always had been, even when they were growing up. He was convinced, finally.

"Alright. Let's do it."

Rick nodded and let go of Michonne's hand long enough to shake Murdock's. Jesus and Michonne exchanged looks - this was what they'd hoped for. In fact, everyone at the table felt both the weight of the dark deeds to come and the warm swell of hopefulness for the future ahead.

They were going to war with the Saviors.

* * *

Abraham reverently gazed at his glass of ancient single malt scotch under the candle light, on the verge of shedding a tear.

He leaned forward, closed his eyes, and inhaled. "Mother Mayhem…" he breathed, his mustache turning up into a blissful smile. "This is nothin' short of bottled divinity."

"How'd you manage to save this from Negan's people?" Glenn asked Jesus as they all (save Maggie) sat back and enjoyed a glass of beautiful amber scotch in celebration of their newly-minted alliance.

The energy in the room was more relaxed now that they were all fed, had some wine, and sampled their first taste of vintage scotch. Even the obvious tension between Rick and Murdock had thawed considerably - they both wanted the same things, and they were both content to let everyone take the time to enjoy the here and now before the hard days (and deeds) ahead.

"Jesus has a talent for hiding things. And the best damned poker face I've ever seen." Murdock smirked in answer to Glenn, and Michonne did not miss the lingering look he gave Jesus from behind his glass.

The younger man's returning gaze was equally as loaded with something not meant for the rest of the guests around the table. Then he rolled his eyes. "It was just a loose floorboard, 'Doc, not a magic trick."

Abraham raised his glass in salute. "That's some shit out of a movie. Well done."

"Don't sell yourself short." Rick supplied, taking a swallow of scotch and lifting his glass to the light like Abraham. "You managed to make it through my town and into my house without me hearing a whisper of it. You convinced me to come all the way out here on nothin' but your word. You're _talented_." His stunning blue gaze fell to Jesus and he nodded his approval. In a rare moment of humility, he added: "Thank you. For makin' us feel welcome here, this meal, the scotch, the clothes, everythin'. I'm grateful."

"Yeah, you did all right tonight, man." Daryl admitted, tapping his glass against his lips. "That roast almost makes me sorry I knocked your ass out and tied you up."

"Thanks...I think." Jesus seemed to smile and frown in confusion simultaneously.

"You'll have to excuse Daryl, he's not used to havin' to talk on a full stomach." Rick deadpanned, and everyone laughed - including Rick, for the first time since his shower with Michonne that morning. Daryl rolled his eyes and downed the rest of his scotch, indulging in an impressive belch.

Jesus thought he was beginning to like Rick.

"I think the three-hundred-year-old scotch is getting to both of you…" Glenn exaggerated breezily, scooting his chair closer to Maggie's and reaching a hand down to gently stroke her stomach.

Rick was on the point of retorting when he felt Michonne stir next to him, uncrossing her legs underneath his hand to lean forward and pluck the glass from his other. "Then you won't mind if I finish it, right, baby?"

He turned and watched her, tucked in right next to him, drinking the rest of his scotch before he could answer. His eyes fell to her lips, then her throat, and back up again as he felt himself hardening to steel under the table. No, he didn't mind one little bit. She took it like a pro, actually enjoying the burning sensation in her throat and chest in the wake of the oaky liquid.

Seeing the intimacy between them, if only for that moment, made Jesus wish he hadn't promised to behave himself. Murdock looked wistful, and he shook his head. "Same old 'Chonne..."

Michonne licked her lips as she put Rick's glass down and turned to fix her old friend with a look. Rick had to drag his eyes away from her mouth to focus on the man at the head of the table. "And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" She said in a voice Rick had never heard her use before. It was light-hearted; carefree.

"You heard me, woman." Murdock grinned, leaning forward to address Rick. "Let me guess, Rick: Somehow 'Chonne's always there to take the last bite of your food, your last swig of beer, the last of your - ?"

"Protein bars. Toothpaste." Rick finished for him, now staring appreciatively at Michonne again. She glared at him, pretending to be scandalized that he would snitch on her.

"Chocolate…" Maggie smirked next to Glenn, causing Michonne to turn and narrow her eyes at her traitorous friend next. Maggie sipped her iced tea, pretending that she hadn't said anything. She was secretly excited to hear any details she could from Murdock about what Michonne was like before the world ended. They all were, though they'd never say it out loud.

Rick, above all, was especially curious. He couldn't help himself. He gazed at her, trying to picture her younger self - happier, maybe a bit sassier, skinnier, maybe so damned irresistible any guy within a hundred mile radius was doomed the moment he laid eyes on her.

"Ah, the notorious sweet tooth!" Murdock laughed, forcing Michonne to laugh, too, embarrassed. Everyone looked on, affected by their intimate, comfortable way with each other. "People, there was a time when this woman would straight up _murder_ you if you tried to eat the last piece of her mama's chocolate cake."

"Oh you're one to talk." Michonne rolled her eyes, and Rick noticed they were sparkling. "You were the stingiest dude I ever met. You wouldn't share your juice, your Big Kat, nothin'."

"That's because you _took_ everything I had, girl!" She laughed out loud, shaking her head at him, smiling from ear to ear. Rick could only look on, riveted, an outsider to the world they conjured up with the past. One he couldn't share. Murdock sighed, gazing at her pleasantly. "You took my candy, my time, my high school record in track, and my heart. All in one fell swoop."

"Murdock…" Michonne felt the hairs on her arms and neck tingling under Rick's gaze, and knew he was searching her face for signs of the memories Murdock spoke of. Specifically, the one about stealing his heart. Her radiant smile faltered as she dropped her eyes to the empty scotch glass in front of her.

"So what happened?" Abraham asked, hanging on their words like it was story time.

Glenn frowned at Abraham, because that was rude, but he quickly returned his gaze to Michonne, because he was just as curious as everyone else.

Even Daryl and Jesus were waiting, watching. Michonne still smiled, though it was somewhat sad, wistful, like Murdock's. She removed her hand from Rick's gently and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table, and her chin in her hands. "We were best friends, then high school sweethearts...then, I guess, pen pals?"

Murdock laughed. "Pen pals? Ouch."

She shrugged. "You were never in the same country for longer than a couple of months."

"Fair enough, but if you're gonna tell it, tell it right." He really did see her old self a bit more, the way she looked tonight. His 'Chonne. He started talking, unable to help himself, aware and yet unaffected by the other people around the table. "I got a look at that sword you walked in here with. Doesn't surprise me, you picking that up." He addressed the table, now. "Everyone we grew up with had big hopes for us, but especially 'Chonne. All the parents used to say 'that girl could run for President'. Then she lit outta Houston for Atlanta, and didn't look back."

Michonne was suddenly back there at that airport, breaking his heart. And she was watching the Bulls beat the Rockets on her mama's living room floor while he tried to cop a feel. And she was racing him through their apartment complex for the last bite of his Big Kat. Reading his letters from all over the world.

She didn't know where to begin telling that story. Not with everyone watching, listening. Especially not with Rick's shining blues making her skin tingle. So she let Murdock do it, unable to respond just yet. The conflicting feelings of bittersweet nostalgia and stark awareness of the here and now - of Rick's hand on her thigh and his eyes watching her carefully - warred within her.

"I guess, I figured...why shouldn't you? You wanted to help people. And I knew you could go all the way. That was worth a broken heart, right?"

Michonne scoffed, finally making eye contact with her old friend. "I wasn't trying to be President, Murdock, come on."

"Department of Justice, at least." He was still smiling. "Come on, you _know_ you were ambitious. Competitive. You raced me for everything! Of course I believed you could run for office!"

"Michonne in politics?" Abraham stroked his handlebars, unable to picture it. "Unless slicin' and dicin' is part of your platform, I'm a little dubious about that scenario."

Rick couldn't really picture it, either. He imagined her as a defense attorney, fighting for people who couldn't fight for themselves. He felt somewhat defensive for her, and a little smug - maybe once upon a time, what Murdock saw as ambition was really just righteous passion. All that hope she could wield inside, it was contagious, but never self-serving.

"So where'd _you_ end up, Murdock?" Glenn asked to move things along, seeing the look on Rick's face.

Murdock rolled his scotch glass between his palms, thinking about his answer. "I traveled, mostly. Tried to find some way to occupy myself."

"You ran away." Michonne said quietly, frowning at him.

Murdock unleashed that same, sad smile again as he looked at his 'Chonne. Jesus had only ever seen that expression on his handsome face when he used to talk about her. He didn't often, but when he did it was usually with this...look of old, rusty pain. It was fascinating to watch unfold now, in Michonne's presence, with her wearing the same old pain on her face.

"Maybe I did. Can you blame me? I was _trying_ get over _you_."

"Ohhhh, you mean with _Naomi?_ " Michonne turned the tables on him, her tone teasing now.

"Ah, Naomi." Jesus smirked, his eyes dancing.

It was Murdock's turn to look embarrassed.

"Did he tell you about Naomi from France?" Michonne egged him on, glad for an opportunity to change the subject and that Jesus eagerly took the bait.

"He told me about Naomi from France."

"Oh, pretty please with a cherry on top, let's hear about Naomi from France." Abraham poured himself another helping of scotch.

"We don't need to bore our guests with _that_ story." Murdock tried and failed to appeal to Jesus with his expression, but his right hand man dutifully ignored him.

"Who wants to hear about Naomi from France?" His smirking counterpart put it to a vote, tapping his glass on the table. They all tapped their glasses in return, even Rick. Murdock raised a surprised eyebrow at him.

He took another helping of scotch from Abraham and shrugged at their host, seemingly more relaxed about all this talk of Michonne and Murdock's past than anyone expected. But like Michonne, he was secretly grateful that they'd moved on from the intimate, shared memories of the high school sweethearts and onto a subject that paired Murdock with someone other than the love of his, Rick's, life.

"I think it's only fair. Vote's unanimous. Let's hear _that_ story."

So much for Jesus behaving himself. Murdock gave in, and told them the story of Naomi from France - with occasional help from Michonne. "She was a supermodel." His old friend teased, stealing sips of Rick's scotch.

"She was a school teacher." Murdock retorted with a twinkle in his eye, sipping from his own glass.

"A school teacher who looked like a supermodel…" Michonne countered, drawing a chuckle from Maggie.

"She was a good person." Murdock supplied. "We were good together. She took good care of me. Sometimes I wonder what happened to her. If she...suffered."

"Why didn't you marry her?" Jesus said quietly, watching his lover, the scotch making him languid and uncaring that anyone could see the affection in his eyes. "You never told me."

They hadn't exactly had a lot of opportunity to sit around telling tales of the past lately. It was mostly out in the open, on the road in search of somewhere to to be safe, that they talked about where they came from, who they were. Here, at the Hilltop, they spent their time building, trading, problem-solving - and navigating their unexpectedly intense feelings for one another.

"Me, either." Michonne added, and they both gazed at Murdock expectantly. In fact, the whole table was waiting to hear his answer. "At the time, it seemed like you really did care about her."

"I did, but…" And here, Rick could recognize that look in Murdock's eyes from a mile away. "I think we both realized that I was still waiting around for you, 'Chonne. By then it was too late, though. Naomi told me right before she left to open my eyes. You were moving on. You already had Mike, and soon after, little Andre came along."

Michonne's heart stopped dead. Her face fell as the entire table reacted to the abrupt change in atmosphere. Before, it had been balancing on a knife's edge, as the intimate details of how Murdock and Michonne grew apart were beginning to unfold around them. Now, though, at the mention of two names none of them, save Rick, had heard before, the air was so heavy it felt like a second skin.

Murdock realized his mistake too late, and his wistful smile disappeared as he watched ghosts dance across Michonne's beautiful face.

"Who's...Mike and...Andre…?" Glenn asked softly, taking the words right out of Abe's mouth. He frowned, regretting the question, when he saw the blue fire in Rick's eyes.

Michonne was assaulted by memories just then. She froze where she sat, thinking of how she tried to call Murdock's apartment in Le Mans about a week after Andre was born. And the card he'd sent from Brussels for Andre's first birthday. And Mike getting territorial. And her peanut being mesmerized with the scenery on the back of Murdock's post cards. Her little peanut's curious smile always made her heart feel like it had tripled in size. The memory of it was almost too much to think about.

She felt Rick's hand on her thigh, warm and protective. She took a deep breath, clearing the memories away, pushing down her emotion. She finally looked at them, her friends, and she told them the truth. A truth she hadn't exactly been ready to share with them all. It was hard enough telling Rick, and now having to let Murdock know like this. But she figured she would have to eventually, if she was ever going to heal.

"Mike was my boyfriend." Rick felt useless next to her, unable to shield her from the obvious pain in her voice and on her face as she continued: "And Andre was...my little boy. They're both gone, now."

"I'm so sorry, Michonne…" Maggie reached across the table to squeeze Michonne's hand, her empathy etched all over her face and in her large eyes. She'd had no idea. None of them had. Michonne never spoke of it.

Glenn felt the grip of fear at the haunted look in Michonne's eyes over the loss of her child. Abraham felt sick with sadness for her, and desperate for more scotch. All this talk of Houston had made him homesick, and now….talking about family, and little babies perishing in all that hell….he was on the verge of thinking about his own family. His own perished offspring. He downed his second glass and reached for the bottle again.

"Maybe you oughtta slow down, man…" Daryl whispered, eyeing him warily. Abe ignored him.

"You have my sympathy, Michonne." He raised his glass and immediately tipped it back.

Jesus, Murdock, and Rick sat speechless. Seeing Michonne so suddenly floored drove a spike of protectiveness and concern straight through Rick that he couldn't ignore. Murdock was simply shocked, and saddened. He had never in a million years thought that Michonne would be anywhere without her baby, her Andre. He remembered the joy in her voice the first time they were able to speak over the phone after the baby boy was born. He hadn't given Mike a second thought - he never had. That was his stubborn arrogance, believing no man could know Michonne the way he did, always would. It seemed he was wrong, on all accounts.

"Forgive me, 'Chonne. I got carried away." Was all he could say.

Michonne smiled at him, shaking her head. "It's okay. I'm glad you know. All of you." She took a deep breath and let it out, allowing Rick to rub her arm and nuzzle her shoulder gently with his lips as she looked around the table. "It gets a little easier every time, talking about them..about _him_."

"We're gonna be just fine," Rick drawled, kissing her shoulder again and gazing into her eyes like it was just the two of them there. "We'll survive. We'll rebuild. Like we always do." He looked around at his family. Maggie and Glenn grasped hands on the table. Daryl stared at his glass under his hair. Abraham looked on, dutifully tipsy. "We'll do it for our future." And he focused on his love, searching her eyes for signs that she believed him. With his next words, he tried to bring back some of that hope and happiness they shared in their sunny little sanctuary only a few hours ago. "We'll try again..."

Michonne became lost in his eyes, and she did believe him. She nodded, silently fortifying their agreement to try for a child when all this was over. Maggie didn't miss it, watching them, and she determined to ask Michonne later if her hunch was right.

Jesus watched the scene unfold, feeling as though there might never come a day when he could share that same hope that he saw in Glenn and Maggie, and now Rick and Michonne, with Murdock. Murdock's communities were his offspring. That had been clear the day they started this place. Still - Rick was right. The goal now was to rebuild. Try again.

But before they could do that, they had a war to survive.

"I know this is hard to believe at the moment," Jesus offered determinedly, leaning forward, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, "but we met for a reason. All of us. Now, and even in the past." Murdock caught his gaze and they lingered there for a beat before Jesus continued to address the table. "It wasn't just to trade weapons for sorghum. Rick's right - we'll be fine. As long as we remember what we're fighting for. As long as we _win_. And I _believe_ we will."

"You _are_ usually right…" Murdock supplied, smiling.

The moment was abruptly interrupted by loud, urgent pounding that reverberated through the house. Rick instinctively reached for his Python, holstered to his side under his jacket, but he didn't get up right away. He looked to Jesus and Murdock for any signs of trouble.

The pounding came again, louder and more frantic, and it put everyone at the table on their guard.

Jesus stood up swiftly, a look of urgency and concern etched into his handsome young face, and the rest of the dinner guests followed as the pounding on the door in the front room continued. Everyone followed him from the table, back into the grand foyer, Murdock taking up the rear on his cane.

"'Doc? Jesus! Open the bloody door, it's Elizabeth!"

* * *

Their dinner guests stood watching - a mute chorus of finely-dressed spectators - as Jesus pulled open the front door and a woman with flushed cheeks, full lips, large blue eyes, and a _mountain_ of curly strawberry blonde hair came tumbling into his waiting arms.

"Lizzie…!" He exhaled with relief, his eyes slipping shut as they squeezed each other as tightly as they could. "I knew you'd get outta there."

Murdock made his way to them as quickly as he could on his cane, taking his turn to embrace their party crasher himself. She was obviously the doctor Jesus spoke of. Meanwhile three other strangers (to Rick's group) began filing wearily into the foyer.

A tall, stocky guy with dark eyes, short dark, disheveled hair and a split lip that was still caked in dark, dried blood. An equally tall, though much younger black kid with short, coiled black hair, sharp, though deeply matured eyes and a lean, strong build. And finally a petite young woman with cool olive-toned skin, icy gray eyes, and long, wavy black hair.

They all looked like they'd just escaped from Guantanamo, as far as Abraham could reckon. The looks of them compared to how Rick's people were dressed made them all feel slightly out of place, something they hadn't felt since the first night they found themselves behind the sheltered walls of Alexandria. Except _they_ weren't the dirty, traumatized ones this go round.

There were hugs and whispered words of relief all around, and finally the woman with the dazzling strawberry curls opened her eyes while Murdock was holding her affectionately. Her pale blues focused over his broad shoulder as she stood on her tiptoes - first on the giant red-haired man in the tight dinner jacket, then sweeping to each face, and their attire, in turn.

"Are we entertaining…? I would've dressed. " Came the odd question, followed by a bit of cheek they hadn't expected, coated with a bright, disarming English accent. She lowered herself flat on her feet again and stepped back from Murdock.

Gradually, the Hilltop group noticed the Alexandria group. Murdock and Jesus stood caught in the middle.

Elizabeth and her friends took in the sight of this intriguing array of characters equally as silently (and somewhat warily) as they did them. There was a well fit, beautiful black woman with dreadlocs swept elegantly to the top of her head. Then a scowling man whose face was mostly covered by slick, fine black hair. A young woman with wavy dark brown hair, wearing one of the cocktail dresses 'Lizzie' had scavenged herself, and looking quite lovely in it. She was holding hands with an young Asian man with kind eyes but a serious, protective demeanor. Then the big, scary-looking ginger. And finally...the steely-eyed man in dark grey, leaning on air, his jaw like jagged granite, watching her family interact with a shrewd gleam in his bright eyes. _Well, well_...Elizabeth thought, despite her exhaustion and fragile emotional fortitude. _What have we here?_

Jesus shook his head and took her hand, offering her a hopeful smile. "We're...recruiting. This is Rick Grimes, and these are his people from Alexandria. I ran into them after you were taken." He gestured to them each, and they all nodded to the Hilltop group in greeting. Still silent, watchful, careful. "Maggie and her husband Glenn. Daryl, Abraham there...Rick."

"And this is Michonne…" Murdock spoke up, walking over to stand a little closer to his old friend and his new allies. "She's a very old friend of mine. Someone from my past; someone I knew well. They're here to help us."

Elizabeth let her gaze sweep over them all yet again, assessing.

The silence and tension in the foyer seemed even more palpable than when Rick's group had first arrived. Dr. Corday gave off a different kind of energy than Rick, but it was just as dominant. He could tell right away that she wasn't just a doctor to this place. She was a leader, too. She turned to get a sense of the reaction of her group, and though they were exhausted and emotionally drained from the last nineteen hours, she could see they all recognized the implications of what Jesus and Murdock were telling them.

She looked back at the group from Alexandria, a relieved, weary smile spreading across her lips. "It's about bloody time."

Just like that, some of the tension lifted, and Rick smirked softly. He thought he and Elizabeth would get along fine.

* * *

"Turns out, Negan had ordered some slimey prat burned with a hot iron." Elizabeth recounted, having been sat in a chair and handed a glass of scotch.

Jesus had introduced Dana (the icy-eyed brunette), Tony (the stocky guy, who was now holding an ice chunk wrapped in a damp towel against his split lip), and Ben (the very quiet black kid whose stoicism reminded Rick of Carl) to the group and insisted that everyone return to the dining room for another drink. After introductions, with a glass in practically everyone's hands, Jesus and Murdock had explained that Rick and Michonne were going to help them take on the Saviors. Elizabeth, while grateful for this news, soon had to recount what she and the others had been through. She clung to her glass, wishing she had more than just a swallow of alcohol left to drive the memories of the last twenty-some-odd hours away.

"Dwight, I think his name is. He tried to escape with his girlfriend."

Daryl immediately perked up at the sound of that name, and that story. Dwight was the name of the fucker who stole Daryl's crossbow and motorcycle. He'd been trying to outrun the Saviors. Him and his girl. The gruff tracker clenched his jaw, righteous anger and excitement roiling through him. It was payback time.

Rick noticed Daryl's sudden tension, but refocused his attention on the conversation, deciding to speak with his friend about it later.

"They did her worse, you ask me…" Dana said softly, staring at the amber liquid in her glass. Maggie frowned, her gaze lingering on the girl, whose face was so obviously haunted by what they'd been through. But she was also bravely keeping it together, Maggie could also tell. Her voice was louder, stronger when she spoke next. "Cut off one of her fingers. That's what they needed Lizzie for. She had to patch them both up."

Her stunning eyes followed her scotch as she lifted the glass and tipped it back, letting her eyelids slip shut before swallowing it down.

"The girl got a nasty infection. I had to...take her hand. To save her life." Elizabeth admitted. The remorse on her face moved something in Abraham and he fought an instinct to offer her some form of comfort, even though she was a stranger.

Jesus frowned. "What happened to that insane doctor they had? Kirk?"

The resilient former surgeon scoffed, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. "Negan popped his head like a Christmas cracker for raping one of his women a week ago, apparently."

"He got Lucille? Their doctor?" Murdock said gravely, not liking this news one bit. It could very well mean that Elizabeth would be called there again. Perhaps next time, they would decide to keep her. Frankly, it was baffling to him that she'd even been let go _this_ time. Let alone Tony, Dana, and Ben. "How the hell did you get out, Lizzie?" He leaned forward in his seat adjacent to hers at the table. He looked at them all in turn, dreading their answer.

Elizabeth stared at him, her eyes wide and haunted. She looked as though something was weighing heavily on her, something macabre. Something she'd rather keep to herself. Or perhaps...the story wasn't hers to tell, both Michonne and Maggie thought, watching Dana carefully. Rick and Glenn were watching Ben. The kid was refusing to look at anyone, but he also looked absolutely _livid_.

"I...t-talked to the guy in charge there." Dana spoke up, her voice barely audible. "He wanted us to double our next payment to let us go. I said no. I'm sorry, I know that basically starves us."

"Yeah…" Ben said, his jaw clenched tightly, his dark eyes finally rising to her young face. "But that's not all he wanted."

She met his gaze, and they glared at each other. Pain, and anger, and anguish, and a multitude of other emotions passed between them in that moment. " _Ben…_ " she whispered, the hurt and shame in her voice making Maggie and Michonne's hearts break for her. "I didn't have a choice. They'd have killed you and Tony, they'd have done whatever they wanted to me anyway, and god knows what they would've subjected Lizzie to."

"There was another way." Ben gritted angrily. " _I_ could've found another-!"

"Hey." Murdock interrupted softly, snapping both young survivors out of their argument. "We can't turn on each other, now."

Dana wiped the sudden tears harshly from her face and slumped down in her chair, her eyes returning to the glass in her hands. Ben, too, went back to sulking in silence.

While Tony stood in awkward, saddened silence, holding the melting ice towel to his lip, Murdock, Elizabeth, and Jesus silently confirmed to each other that Dana had paid the price for their freedom.

Rick and Michonne exchanged looks, processing all the information hitting them at once, within only a few minutes of this other party's arrival. The picture was getting clearer about what they were facing. Steady, cold, razor-sharp anger began to flow through Rick's veins, the more he learned about this Negan fellow and the people he associated himself with.

Glenn felt the same way. He was watching Ben, and feeling for the kid. He couldn't help remembering what had happened to Maggie when they were being held by the Governor. Anger boiled in his veins too, when he realized that he could've been in Ben's shoes easily. It wasn't a good feeling. Not at all. Maggie squeezed his hand comfortingly, feeling him retreating into unpleasant memories because of what was going on around them. He relaxed a little and tried to pay attention.

"Doctor Corday?" Rick spoke up gently, acknowledging the fragile state her two young friends were obviously in. He stepped forward and shifted on his feet, dipping his head to meet her gaze. "If you can tell me anythin' you remember...about where they held you...how many of them there are…"

"If they have weapons, how they're guarding the place, _anything_ ," Michonned added, and he nodded in agreement, resting his hand on the knife strapped to his belt.

Elizabeth nodded, her eyes glinting at them. "Sure. Though, I have to warn you, it isn't much. We were in black hoods for most of the traveling, all we saw was the inside of one room, except..."

Her eyes darted to Dana. Everyone else turned to regard the young woman, too. She returned Rick's gaze steadily, though her face was a mask of detached melancholy. "There's an armory inside," she said instead of addressing the elephant in the room. "Tito, the guy...the one in charge...he led me past a room with a shitload of guns. And they have more."

"You think you can remember where it was inside?" Rick drawled coolly, seeing something impressively shrewd and strong behind her eyes.

"You're here to kill them, right?" She challenged boldly, her gaze unwavering. Everyone was now looking at Rick. Even Tony lowered his towel, waiting for the man's answer.

Michonne was gazing at him supportively, and he could see that their mission was clear in her mind. They were going to help save this community, and by direct result their own, from extinction. He turned from the woman he hoped to make his wife one day to the strong girl in the chair across from him and nodded slowly, letting her read the plain truth in his blue eyes.

"Yeah. We're gonna kill 'em all." He answered her matter-of-factly.

Not only did Dana instantly recognize the raw certainty in the man's eyes, aura, and posture - so did every soul in the room. Murdock only admitted to himself that Michonne, Maggie, and Jesus were indeed right. Rick Grimes was the man to get the job done. Come hell or high water.

"Then I'll help you any way I can," the girl offered. "And I _am_ sure, mister. They have guns. Lots of them. Enough for us all. I can retrace our steps if you can get me back inside."

"I'll help, too." Elizabeth spoke up. "I'll tell you everything I can remember, if it helps."

"Me, too." Tony said, sniffing away the numbness of his cold lip. "I saw glimpses here and there. Looked like rooms. Maybe some faces." He shrugged.

"What about you, Ben?" Jesus asked the brooding young man gently. "Can you remember anything about the compound?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah. Two guards, outside. I heard their voices when they were dragging us in." He sighed, dragging his gaze from his hands to Rick, his expression like stone. But his eyes were full of determination. "And I wanna come, too."

After only a moment's hesitation, Rick nodded at the kid. "Alright. Let's talk in the mornin', then."

"Lizzie, just one more thing?" Murdock added solemnly, his chin resting atop the hand that covered the handle of his cane.

"Anything, 'Doc."

Her leader and friend gestured to the young woman in the black cocktail dress - Maggie. "Maggie and Glenn are expecting. I was wondering if you could…?"

She nodded, a warm smile spreading as she observed the young couple behind him. Children. She adored children. She'd always, always wanted them. But alas...that was not her fate. "Of course. Come and see me first thing, alright?"

Glenn nodded, caressing his wife's thumb with his own. "Thank you."

"I don't feel so good…" Dana whispered, her glass slipping from her fingers (Jesus deftly caught it) and the color draining from her cheeks.

Elizabeth instantly recognized that she was finally slipping into shock, the last of the adrenaline leaving her and the sheer exhaustion from the day finally taking its toll. The scotch had only aided in her body finally catching up to the emotional trauma of the day. "Ohhkay - let's get you cleaned up and in bed, alright, love?"

"I'll go with you," Maggie spoke up abruptly, letting go of Glenn to step forward and help Dr. Corday support Dana as she stood up shakily from the chair. Reacting to the surprised, thoughtful frown etched into Dr. Corday's face (and the dim confusion on Dana's), she added: "My daddy was a doctor and I've seen shock before. I can help. Please, let me?"

"This way." Elizabeth consented, and together they led the girl from the room. Ben stood up, put his glass on the table, and followed without so much as a backward glance, his eyes trained on Dana. Rick saw obvious worry etched all over the young man's face - his anger was forgotten, for now. He loved that girl, it was plain to see.

"Sorry we ruined your dinner party…" Tony offered awkwardly, backing up from the dining room before turning to follow the others.

Maggie glanced back once at Glenn, then Rick, letting them know with a resolute, confident nod that she would be fine. There was no way she was going to leave that girl alone to cope with what had happened to her.

A few moments later, they all heard the front door click shut heavily.

"Rick?" Murdock stood up slowly from his seat, turning to face his new ally. "Got a minute?"

Rick raised an eyebrow but nodded. "Sure."

Murdock began to lead the way, and Rick glanced back at Michonne and the others, her small 'M' charm glinting around his wrist as they passed through the room.

"How would you like to help me fetch some more wine?" Jesus whispered to Michonne, suddenly standing next to her.

She nodded, completely on board with that idea. He offered her his arm again, and together they made off to another part of the house - once again leaving Glenn, Daryl, and a red-cheeked Abraham alone to wait around.

"Somethin' tells me we ain't one of the popular kids…" he muttered dimly.


	11. in the stacks (and of the past)

_I may not know where I'm going, babe_

 _I may not know what I need_

 _but_ _one thing_

 _one thing's for certain, baby_

 _I know what I want_

 _and that's to please you, baby_

 _(please you, baby)_

 _I'm beggin' down on my knees_

 _I want_ _you_

-Prince, 'The Beautiful Ones'

* * *

Rick found himself in Murdock's study, his veins swimming with the heady tide of intoxication. He wasn't drunk, but he was certainly relaxed.

He tried to look at Murdock objectively, now, with a full belly, a glass or two of scotch, and a better understanding of what he was dealing with. And he could still feel the cool, delicate gold necklace wrapped around his wrist. A connection to Michonne that was just between the two of them, keeping his feet planted firmly on the ground. She had helped him keep from totally losing his mind when they first met, but he still needed her to keep him grounded sometimes. God, she was good at it.

The room was large, elegant, cool and dark. Two lamps cast soft gold light across the sitting area, but otherwise the night permeated the space through the open windows. He admired the book collection as Murdock walked over to his large desk and turned to lean against it, resting his cane beside himself.

Rick stood by, one hand on his belt, waiting.

Murdock sighed. He had been trying to figure out where to begin, yet Rick's intense blue gaze never wavered, so he decided to just talk. "I meant what I said earlier, Rick. I _am_ grateful to you, for saving Michonne's life. For trusting my partner enough to bring her back to me." Rick shifted on his feet, dipping his head in awkward acknowledgment. "And I'm grateful to you for agreeing to help us."

Now came the tough part. The part where they'd have to speak to each other honestly, like men, and move past a thing or two.

"Michonne means the world to me," he began, his deep voice serious yet wistful. "For a long time, she was...my muse. The kind of woman you just can't come by but once in a lifetime. So...trust me when I say, Rick: I know what she means to _you_."

Rick scoffed, clenching his jaw. He remained silent, however. Murdock watched the ruggedly cool man's crystal blue eyes flicker at him and his full lips purse with paper-thin patience. He nodded for the Hilltop leader to go on.

"I see the way you look at her. I see that she saved your life in return. I get it. And I'm not here to mess with it."

Rick watched him for a moment longer, his jaw still clenched and his eyes gleaming. "Well…" he drawled, shrugging and tilting his head. "I guess that's good - for you."

Murdock couldn't help but laugh. He heard the message (more like thinly-veiled threat) loud and clear. Rick Grimes certainly pulled no punches. Okay. Perhaps _he_ shouldn't, either. He decided to be as honest as he could; test Maggie's advice one more time. "There was a time, right after everything went to shit, that I lost my damned mind. I wasn't a person anymore. I was just a bag of flesh, roaming through the ruins, aimless, heartless, waiting to die. One foot in front of the other. Searching for nothing. No better than the dead. I saw things...I _did_ things...things I'm not proud of."

Murdock sighed long and hard.

"Then I met Paul...Jesus. He saved me. Woke me up. Mind, body, and soul."

Rick frowned, listening carefully. Images of himself began to float up to the surface of his thoughts as Murdock went on. Memories. Chasing Lori's ghost around the prison. Talking to himself. Waving his gun around at shadows that frightened him and filled him with guilt. Hope slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Despair creeping into his every pore. A genuine inability to tell what was real and what wasn't.

Until he met Michonne. The fierce look in her eyes that sweltering day - he would never, ever forget it. That look in her eyes, it reached down into him; touched his soul. It grabbed hold of him and would not let go. Yes, Rick knew, he'd been saved the second he lay eyes on the woman who slowly but surely became the love of his life.

Murdock let his gaze latch onto Rick's, and he tried to let the man see the truth in his eyes. "He's everything I'm not. And he's everything I _need_. Michonne is that for you, too. Am I wrong?"

The ex sheriff took a moment to react to what he deduced was a confession about Murdock's real relationship with Jesus. Paul. He let this new information sink in, stepping further into the room at an unhurried pace. He shook his head, finally. "No. You're not wrong."

The Hilltop leader nodded to himself, satisfied that he had pegged the intense, somewhat inscrutable man's feelings for 'Chonne correctly.

Rick gestured with his hand to nothing in particular, deciding to throw Murdock a bone. Honesty begets honesty, and the man meant a lot to Michonne. Rick couldn't ignore or dismiss that. He could see, quite plainly, how Murdock's presence affected his best friend and deepest love. To deny her that now would be selfish and stupid. Rick wasn't a stupid man. "Since we're makin' confessions," he scratched his chin and shifted on his feet. "I gotta admit, I didn't much like you when we met earlier. Still don't."

Murdock laughed again, and Rick found himself smiling. As men, they could appreciate the delicate balance they were attempting to master. "I figured as much…" The tall black man conceded, waiting for his new ally to continue.

Rick sighed. "But...you bring out this whole other side to Michonne...a side I don't know if I'd ever get to witness if it weren't for you." He offered Murdock a weary smirk. "So, I guess I'm grateful, too. Seein' her like this, the way she is tonight, that's because of you."

He was finally able to identify that gleam in her eyes from dinner. That carefree aura around her when she was talking about wine and laughing about stealing her old friend's chocolate bars. That gleam and that aura were remnants of her past self, fitting into place like missing puzzle pieces. All those things Rick wanted to know - little things, big things, good things, bad things, things about her past - they were starting to surface, to become a visible part of her again, and Rick couldn't deny that it was partially a result of her reunion with Murdock. It only made him fall deeper in love with her, but that wasn't a detail Murdock needed to know.

"Mind if I show you something?" The man from Michonne's past asked, getting to his feet and reaching for his cane. Rick shook his head that he didn't. Murdock walked around to the other side of the big desk and pulled out a drawer. He removed a tattered leather wallet, barely held together by the seams. "I used to ask myself why on earth I kept this thing…"

Curious, Rick took several more steps into the room, now standing on the other side of the desk directly in front of Murdock, his eyes flickering from the wallet to his hosts' wistful face.

Murdock opened the wallet. There were credit cards, a driver's license for one Murdock Gillette of Houston, Texas, a ticket for the London tube, currency from at least three countries - and two faded pictures. It was the photographs that Murdock removed now.

"But I always remembered when I looked at these. I stopped looking at them a year ago, but I never forgot about 'Chonne."

He stared at them for a moment, his eyes swimming with memories, before handing them silently to Rick. He wanted the other man to know exactly what it meant to him, having her in this house, at this very moment, during a time when he needed her the most.

Rick took them, at first eyeing Murdock with something like suspicion, his heart pounding.

Murdock simply watched and waited for the hardened gunslinger to look at them. Finally, Rick's blue gaze fell downward. The first picture was of who he could immediately tell was a young Murdock and Michonne, grinning like young fools in love at their prom. Murdock was lankier and goofier-looking as a seventeen or eighteen-year-old kid, swallowed by a blue tux that was a perfect representation of fashion in the nineties, his arm draped proudly around Michonne's small waist. Then there was Michonne. Rick's heart swelled to twice its size, looking at how young and happy and beautiful she was. She was dressed in sky blue, with a matching corsage. Her dreads were shorter, and she'd somehow made them curly and arranged them to look like budding flowers pinned to her head. Her smile was huge, radiant, and so gorgeous he couldn't help swallowing thickly as he shifted on his feet and tried to memorize every detail.

Finally, he was able to drag his eyes away from the vision of a teenaged Michonne's perfect face to look at the second photo.

His heart stopped. He hadn't expected to see what he was looking at - and it was like a blow to the gut.

He felt so much sadness for Michonne in that moment that he had to fight off a surge of emotion as he gazed at the photograph. It was of Michonne, holding a smiling little boy (no older than a year and some change, Rick judged, being a father himself) standing next to another black man who was not Murdock. The little boy was Andre, and the man was Mike, he knew. They were both gone now, Michonne said.

"He's beautiful…" he muttered, overcome with emotion.

The little boy _was_ absolutely beautiful. Butterscotch skin, curly brown hair, full, smiling lips. Big, bright brown eyes. He looked like Michonne. _She_ looked sophisticated, happy, glowing. Her dreads were longer, but also curled and arranged elegantly. The couple was gazing down at their child, pride and love evident in their expressions. Rick nodded to no one, slow to speak, slow to do anything but feel immense empathy for her loss. He felt it in the pit of his stomach.

"She sent me that about a year after Andre was born. I kept it, wishing that I was the man in the picture, for a long time." Murdock offered softly, watching Rick react to the photos. "I don't know if she has any pictures of Andre left," he added, shaking his head sadly. "I wanted to give her that. What do you think?"

Rick looked up at him, the photographs practically burning his fingers. "I think...it'll break her heart a little. But she'll cherish it. And you should."

Murdock nodded, having the same hunch. Rick reluctantly handed the photos back after pausing to take one last, lingering look at them. Michonne's young face in the prom photo moved him in ways he didn't recognize, and the photo of Andre simply made him want to gather her up in his arms right this moment and whisper how much he loved her over and over again until somehow she forgot her pain.

"Thank you," he muttered, wiping his eyes of tears he hadn't shed. He gestured with that hand to Murdock, who was gingerly placing the photographs back into the threadbare wallet. "For showin' me. You didn't have to."

"I did." The other man disagreed. "I told you, she's my family. That means you and yours are family, too."

"You don't even know us." Rick narrowed his eyes, that old, rusty distrust creeping into his bloodstream again. People were hard to trust in these times, and sometimes (photographs, wine, or earnest pledges aside) it was hard for the third generation officer to let his guard down.

Murdock didn't flinch. "I think I know enough. You're here, you're willing to help us, and Michonne is in love with you. That tells me what I need to know, for now."

Rick felt something stir in him, hearing those words about Michonne's feelings for him uttered so matter-of-factly from a man she _used_ _to be_ in love with. This was a strange night, indeed.

Murdock reached again into the desk drawer, this time revealing a small flask. He offered it to Rick.

After a loaded pause, Rick took the flask and took a swig of what was inside. It was whiskey - and it was nowhere near as elegant as the single malt they'd enjoyed at dinner. But Rick instantly felt the burning liquid doing its job. His body relaxed just a little, and he nodded in thanks before handing it back to his enigmatic host.

Murdock took a swig himself as he walked back around to Rick's side of the desk, aided by his cane.

He resumed his leaning seat next to Rick, handing him the flask again. Rick took it, and after another swallow that made him shudder, he leaned next to Murdock against the desk.

"You afraid?" Murdock asked out of the blue as they stared at the shelves of books lining the walls.

"Of what?" Rick drawled, and they passed the flask between them again.

Murdock shrugged. "Letting someone get close. Not being able to protect them. Losing them, even while you're trying to build a future for them."

Rick sat and thought about it for a while, and he nodded slowly, gazing around the study. He thought of everything he'd been through with Lori, and Shane, and Carl, and Judith...and Michonne. Losing them now, losing her...he couldn't bare it. He would fight to keep them safe with his last breaths if he had to. There was just no other reality for him. He finally met the other man's gaze, and he nodded. "Yeah. I am."

"Me too." Michonne's old friend shook his head, his voice nothing but earnest. "Every day. And I _have_ lost - a hell of a lot. You have, too, Rick. We all have."

"Why are you tellin' me this?" Rick frowned, his hackles raised again as he paused handing the flask back to Murdock.

"Because we're going to lose a hell of a lot more in this war. Going in, we need to prepare ourselves for that. We _have_ to win, in the end, or all of this - " the man gestured with his cane to the room, the house, and the community at large, " - it'll be gone. They'll burn us all to the ground if we let them get the upper hand."

Rick straightened his posture, finally understanding. He knew the risks, but Murdock didn't know _him_. That much was still evident, even now.

"We'll win…" he said somberly, taking a final swig of the flask's contents and handing it back. Murdock took it slowly, and Rick stood up, done with the male bonding session. He dipped his head and placed a hand on his belt. "That's what _I_ wanted to tell _you_. If we do this, we're gonna have to kill 'em all. Every single one of 'em. We don't shy from it. We survive. Can you handle that?"

Rick looked down at Murdock expectantly, his stance confident, his resolve unbreakable.

The Hilltop leader felt a great disturbance within himself, hearing those words. Maggie had warned him. He couldn't be surprised. Though he knew that Rick was right, he'd been dreading it, and he silently mourned for Michonne's soul, for what she would have to do. This was how the world had changed. This was what she had become, standing beside the blue-eyed man with the giant gun. A righteous killer. So be it.

Murdock finally nodded, taking a long drink from his flask and sticking it into his inner jacket pocket. He reached out with his now free hand, offering it to Rick. "Understood. We'll kill them all."

They shook for the second time that night.

A soft knock sounded at the door, almost on cue.

"Come in…" Murdock called, and they both turned to see Jesus slipping in to greet them.

Rick saw the bearded young man with new eyes, having learned his real name and his real relationship to Murdock.

"Sorry to interrupt," he offered softly, stepping further into the room, his eyes traveling from his partner to his newly found ally. He smiled, assessing their body language. "But it looks I may not need to be?"

Murdock chuckled. "We were just about done, anyway."

"I'll get outta your hair." Rick drawled, not wishing to stick around to be a third wheel. Besides, he wanted, with all of his being, to be back with Michonne. He had so many thoughts roaming around his head that he wanted to share with her above anyone else, and a desire for her so great (egged on by alcohol, atmosphere, and all the emotional blows they'd both suffered tonight) that he would be hard-pressed to hide the physical evidence if he stood here thinking about her for too much longer.

"You'll find Michonne in the library…" Jesus offered, a knowing gleam in his soft blue eyes as Rick passed him to reach the door. Rick nodded in thanks and turned to leave, then paused.

Jesus and Murdock watched him hesitate, his jaw set seriously as he stood with his hand on the door.

"We captured one of them, the Wolves." He informed them, trying not to think about the loss of his friend. Both Hilltop leaders exchanged glances, but they waited for him to continue. "We think he's one of their leaders. He's pretty sick from an infection in a wound."

"But he may have information we need." Jesus deduced.

Rick nodded, his eyes gleaming. "We're patchin' him up right now. You wanna help me interrogate him when we get back?" Jesus raised an eyebrow. Rick sighed, scratching his chin. "Somethin' tells me we could use your experience."

A pleasant, yet determined smile crossed Jesus's - Paul's - face, and he nodded, stepping back to lean against the desk next to Murdock. He folded his arms across his vibrant burgundy vest. "Say no more. I'm at your service."

With that, Rick bid them goodnight, disappearing through the door.

"I like him." Jesus said when he was gone, turning to Murdock.

"Me too. But, I like you more."

"You'd better. You're a handful." The younger man leaned in and kissed his lover, recognizing the identical haze of tipsiness and desire shining in his dark eyes.

* * *

 _A few minutes later…_

 _(with a vengeance)_

When Jesus had excused himself, giving her an unsolicited peck on the cheek, Michonne became distracted looking at all the books in the library.

The collection was very impressive. Everything from Tolstoy to Jane Austen. There was a vast collection of transcribed personal diaries from the mistresses of the house, dating back to its erection well over a century ago. There were encyclopedias of the time, some of them filled with "facts" that had since been disproven or updated. There were children's books and scientific journals and plays and poetry.

Michonne was very tipsy, and very excited, roaming around the stacks of the vast, dark library, enjoying the peace and quiet and solitude. She ran her fingers along a shelf full of encyclopedias, biting her lip and closing her eyes to listen to the sound of her skin sliding against the dusty tomes.

This was an escape one just couldn't come by in this horrible world.

It was easy to forget, dealing with constant death and danger, that things like this still existed. Large, ancient, silent libraries full of books. The history of the world at her fingertips. A different world had existed before this dead one. Yes, that was easy to forget, but it was also something to fight for again. That's what they were doing here. Jesus was right. There was beauty still - in the world, and in people.

She _had_ to believe that. She hoped, with all her heart, that Rick believed that, too.

She heard footsteps.

Michonne stilled, her body tensing, but she did not open her eyes, or turn around. She knew those footsteps. They were Rick's. His unhurried gait was unmistakable. And the intent in those foot falls sparked instant arousal in her. She could feel his eyes on her, and the grip of a deep, intense desire making her abdomen tighten as a result.

Rick had headed straight for the library once he'd left Murdock's study. He knew his people were waiting for them to return, waiting for answers, waiting for instructions. But right now he had to get to Michonne.

He was hard as sin by the time he reached the large, darkened space. His shining blue eyes roved all over the room in search of her. He walked through the stacks, his erection intensifying and his breath growing shallow with every step, until finally he spotted her running her elegant fingers along a shelf of encyclopedias. He stood still for a moment, completely mesmerized by the sight of her gorgeous body draped in that silky, flowing dress, her skin so rich and deep and enticing in the dim light. Her ass called out to him, its pleasing shape just discernible in the dark. Her neck and shoulders made his mouth water. Those straps. He had plans for them.

Unable to wait any longer to be near her, Rick sauntered toward her in the dark, never taking his eyes off of her.

She froze, but didn't turn around. She knew he was there. She was waiting for him. He finally made it to the shelf where she stood and pressed himself into her without hesitation, exhaling through his nostrils.

Rick's breath made Michonne's skin tingle. The weight of his body and his unyielding erection pressing into her backside made her wet.

He raised his arms and held onto the shelf, where her hand was still touching one of the books. Rick kissed her neck, his thick, juicy lips leaving steamy little shots of electricity along her skin.

"Hey…" he whispered throatily into her ear, tantalizing her with the desire in his voice alone. And _god_ , his cock felt good against her ass.

"Hey, Rick." She answered softly, arching her back into him and gasping as he resumed kissing her neck.

He pushed his hips forward, grinding into her slowly, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt his length stiffening even further for the feel of her supple ass. _Fuck_ , he needed to be inside her so bad it hurt. The alcohol he'd consumed made him bold, drove him forward, but the new discoveries about her tonight made him feel like he would never love another person on earth the way he loved Michonne. His children were his heart, but Michonne was his _soul_.

He was madly in love with her. She knew he was crazy, she knew he was a killer, and she didn't give a damn.

He turned her around and pressed her back into the shelf, bending his knees and sliding his hands along her silky-soft thighs under the dress to lift her from the floor. He wanted her legs around him, but he wasn't going to fuck her just yet.

He had to get something straight first. For good. Forever. It had only been three days since they started this, but as far as Rick was concerned, he had loved her from the moment he saw her. Everything after was just a slow burn.

Michonne felt her sex melt through her panties when Rick turned her around, exposing her to the full intensity of the fire in his blue eyes. He lifted her up and she wrapped her legs around him, shuddering as he rolled his hips into her. She felt his cock pushing the fabric of his pants of its limits, seeking her exquisite heat, pressing hard against her inner thigh. He gripped her by the ass in one strong hand, his other arm wrapping around her waist to hold her steady against the shelf.

"Michonne...I can't live without you." He breathed, his southern twang coating his deep tenor like honey.

Michonne melted again, starting to drip for him as he stared into her soul. She shook her head slowly, blinking back tears. "Me either…" she whispered back.

"We have to win this, together. For _us_." He leaned closer, kissing her full, sweet lips over and over, desperately. She tasted like wine again. It only made him harder. "I need you with me, baby. I _need_ you..."

"Baby, you _got_ me. I'm not going anywhere." Michonne said sweetly, kissing him back as he started to grind himself into her, overwhelmed with need.

They both were. There was some kind of spell on them in this place, temporarily shrouded from prying eyes and urgent distractions. Rick looked so good tonight, and he had stuck by her side like never before. She loved everything about him, his volatility included - but tonight he'd shown her a side of himself she'd never seen before. She had always imagined, deep down, that it existed, but the proof swallowed her whole tonight. It made her fall so hard for him that she knew, in her bones, there was no turning back.

Rick Grimes was it. She would gladly go to war with him. Die beside him.

He kissed her fiercely, his tongue, thick and strong, diving into her mouth to claim hers. She wrapped her arms around him as suddenly he whipped her away from the shelf, carrying her blindly through the stacks, back out into the main space peppered with reading tables and chairs wrapped in green velvet. He stopped kissing her just long enough to watch where he was going. Michonne stared at his handsome face, memorizing every bit of it that she could - from the scar under his right eye to the obelisk-shaped crease between his brows - as finally Rick spotted a nearby table and sat her down on it. He pulled the chair out so he could step around it and settle in between her legs before claiming her mouth again possessively.

He'd found a table that was obscured from the entrance of the main space by a card catalog shelf. If anyone came, they'd see the tops of their heads, but nothing else. The relative seclusion in the large, silent old space emboldened them.

She ran her hands through his hair, her fingernails making him tingle from his scalp to his balls, and helped him pull off his jacket. All the while their tongues danced, and Rick continued to grind his hips into her center, so hard for her that he _ached_. He broke their kiss, tossing his jacket aside and bending to press his plump lips to her neck.

Michonne let her head fall back, bracing herself on the table, as Rick tongued his way to the strap of her dress. He gently dragged his teeth along her skin, making her pussy pulse and quiver, until the strap fell off her shoulder. Then he tilted his head in the other direction and did the same to the other strap. " _Mmm...god…_ " she breathed, widening her legs and arching her back to rub herself along his bulging erection.

It was begging for her, straining for escape, and she was gonna get it - in due time.

Her old man grunted and bucked into her hard, making her gasp, before lifting his head to concentrate on freeing her lovely breasts from the top of the dress. He used his fingers to push the fabric aside, exposing her perky nipples, surrounded by dark chocolate areolas and a valley of supple, smooth brown flesh. Rick lowered his head again to lick one of her nipples into his mouth.

Michonne buckled and squirmed in his firm grip as Rick's scorching, silky-wet tongue rolled her nipple around in his steamy mouth over and over again with such finesse that it made her swoon. Then he proceeded to take turns sucking on her breasts slowly, his plump lips feather-soft, his hot tongue dancing with each nipple indulgently. He took his time, his grip around her waist never loosening, making Michonne a sopping wet mess. Her pussy throbbed and her breath went shallow. She clawed at his back and the thick curls at the nape of his neck, her entire body fine-tuned to the exquisite torture of his mouth.

Until with one final, agonizing pull of her nipple between his lips, he let her go with a quiet 'pop'.

His eyes rose to hers, and they were like cerulean fire.

Rick stood upright, pressing himself into her again, his lips resting against hers. He kissed her deeply, sucking on her tongue now. Then he paused, staring at her as though he was just discovering her again. Michonne remembered his eyes through that fence, and the sight of them now made her body quake with desire.

"Take off your panties, baby." He muttered roughly against her mouth. He didn't have to say anything else. She knew what time it was.

He held her under his gaze until she nodded slowly, then he let her go and stepped back, watching.

Michonne slipped off the table and reached under her dress, her eyes never leaving his. Rick rolled up his sleeves, feeling his dick jump at the sight of her soaked panties sliding down her legs at his behest. She let them fall and kicked them off as Rick grabbed the chair he'd shoved aside to pull up to the table. Michonne got on top again, her skin burning up and her pussy practically buzzing with anticipation.

Rick sat down before her, kissing her neck, breasts, and still clothed stomach as he went. He lifted her dress up, taking hold of her thighs to pull her forward, causing her to lean back and spread her legs for him.

He paused to take in the enticing sight of her sex, glistening with her need for him, her dark lips so smooth and slick, her clit a shiny pink pearl peeking out at him, throbbing for him. He licked his own lips and leaned forward, breathing on her reverently as he made contact.

" _Mmmm, fuck…!_ " Michonne groaned, arching her back and grabbing at his curls when she felt his steaming hot tongue rake her from the bottom of her pussy to the top of her clit. He lingered there to play with it, making quick, hard circles that drove her crazy inside. He sucked, and she whimpered, and he gripped her thighs harder as her fingers wound themselves through his thick hair.

Rick found her as juicy and tender as that roast beef; as cozy and comfortable as home. He feasted on her without mercy, pulling her ever closer to his face, licking her like an ice cream cone on a hot summer day. He went on and on, relentlessly stimulating her clit and driving his hot tongue into her center until she couldn't take any more.

"Rick, Rick, Rick, Rick... _ohhh god, baby I'm coming!_ " Michonne hissed, out of her mind with pleasure.

His name sounded like a prayer floating down to him. Rick smiled against her clit and growled, licking and sucking at her full force, until she came tumbling to pieces against his face. He kept on like a mad dog, causing fierce spasms to rip through her body. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming, she was cumming so hard with Rick's mouth and tongue sliding around her clit in a whirlwind, until finally, he gave it one last, lingering suck that made her shudder.

He slowed down to a snail's pace, but did not stop circling his lips around her clit, his eyes closed as though he was in a trance.

When Michonne finally came down from her orgasm, she gently rubbed her thigh against his pleasantly scratchy chin to get his attention. Their gazes met, her dark brown eyes hooded by her lashes and his crystal blues bloomed with insatiable lust. Rick slowly stood upright and kissed her hard. She tasted herself on him; she was all over his face. It only made her kiss him more intensely, because now she needed to feel him inside her - desperately.

"Have a seat, cowboy," she whispered when they came up for breath. He did as she asked, his hands sliding reluctantly down her thighs. She was dripping and he was so hard that she could see his bulge through his black jeans as clear as day in the dim light.

Finally, Rick sat down, gazing up at her, his lust-filled eyes shining. Michonne slowly closed her legs, closing off his view of the results of his efforts. He very nearly pouted, but he became preoccupied by her toned, yet nimble body rising from the table and advancing on him, her hips swaying sexily.

Rick was so handsome, sitting there, hard as steel, jaw clenched, stubble glistening with the aftermath of her cum, watching her. Michonne lifted her dress and straddled him, shivering at the feel of his strong thighs underneath her slick, heated ones. She wiped his face for him indulgently, all the while rolling her hips against him, rubbing her sex along his bulge, teasing him. He sighed long and hard, leaning forward impatiently, grabbing her ass, and kissed her again possessively.

Michonne scrambled to undo his belt as their tongues danced, and he smiled against her mouth, ready for her. Finally, she freed him, and he groaned, grinding himself into her smooth, cool hand. He was drenched in precum, and she wasted no time stroking him from his head to his partially exposed balls, lubricating him. Her hand felt so good on him that he had to crush his eyes shut and lean back in the chair. Michonne stroked him faster, running her other hand through his curls again, driving him crazy. Then she stopped, lifted herself, and began to take him inside her.

 _He felt so good..._ his hard length twitched and pulsed as she lowered herself onto him slowly. For Rick, it was almost torture, of the finest kind. He was so hard and thick, and she was so tight, she had to take her time in this position, and he was not complaining. They both exhaled with simultaneous ecstasy as she finally took all of him inside, leaning forward to swallow his throaty moan with a fierce kiss. Michonne began to ride him, her hands still in his hair, periodically rocking into him with the force of her kisses.

He was thick, hot, and solid as a steel rod ramming into her, hitting her deep inside with each stroke. He was losing himself in the feel of her tight walls pulling and tugging at him, her slick thighs slapping into him, her soft breasts brushing against his lips. The flesh of her glorious rump bounced and vibrated in his hands and on his dick, making each thrust of himself inside her feel ten times as intense.

" _Goddamn_ , Michonne..." he rasped, clutching at her, enraptured. She fucked him with relentless fervor, enveloping him like a slippery glove, bouncing against him, the sway of her hips putting a spell on him. He was gonna cum any minute, but he wanted it to last as long as possible. Rick lifted his head and lapped at her breasts, sucking one into his mouth as he plunged himself into her over and over again. Each thrust rendered him powerless to stop his looming release, and soon he had to let go of her breast to gaze up into her face.

He needed to cum inside her. God in heaven, she felt so good, and she was so beautiful, and she was all his - alone in the huge, dark library, surrounded by stacks of old love stories, on the verge of war and more and _more_ death. Michonne understood exactly what he needed, gazing into his eyes, and she was too overcome with love and desire to deny him.

Rick gripped her hard, thrusting full throttle, making the chair creak in the relative quiet. Michonne held on for dear life.

"I love you." He rasped suddenly, staring at her like she was the sun. " _Fuck, baby_...I love you, I love you, _I love you_..." He couldn't stop. He was gonna cum. The words alone were a reverent mantra, egging on his release, clouding his mind, filling his entire body. His abdomen tensed. He was almost there.

"I love you, too Rick... _don't stop!_ " she moaned, on the verge of cumming again herself, kissing his face. He let go of her ass (which was still bouncing on his shaft almost maniacally) with one hand to reach down and massage her clit so they might cum together. She loved how well he knew her body, how close and in sync they had become since they started this. It drove Michonne over the edge, and she began to quake around him.

That was all he needed. Finally, Rick came. Hard.

He buckled over with her, burying his face in her neck as his seed gushed out of him in intense swells. The waves were so intense that they forced him to thrust into her a few more times as he rode them out.

Michonne felt him filling her, clinging to him passionately, reveling in the feel of his strong grip on her flesh and his stubble against her skin.

They rode each other down slowly, folded up in each other like magnets. When he lifted his head to gaze at her again, his body finally relaxed, his expression hazy but sated, he couldn't help but smile.

Michonne smiled back. They kissed softly, and her old man drawled against her lips: "You think they're missin' us yet?"

"I don't care…" she responded coolly, toeing the line of drunkenness, taking another kiss.

Rick was in the same boat.

His handsome smile widened, his eyes gleaming. "Yeah...me either."

* * *

 _A short while ago..._

"I almost can't believe this place…" Michonne muttered, gazing around at the darkened library.

It felt even bigger now that it was just her and Jesus sitting in the middle of the vast space. They were crouched on the floor behind an 'inquiries' counter, as they used to call it back in the day. Jesus had a stash carefully secured inside one of the large bookshelves, apparently - another hiding place that the Saviors never got wind of. He was a clever boy.

He nodded, passing the bottle of vintage red over to her after taking a swallow. "I know. I used to find Murdock roaming around in here a lot when we first settled in. He loved it."

Michonne couldn't help chuckling, drinking some of the wine and handing it back. "Does he still pretend he doesn't need reading glasses?"

Jesus laughed out loud, his smile completely carefree, making him look even younger. "Ha! Of course he does, but he would never admit it. Lizzie brought him back a whole box of them from a raid we did on an apothecary a while back, just to prove a point."

Same old Murdock. The two of them chuckled still more at his expense, affable silence befalling them again as they passed the bottle back and forth.

"He doesn't come in here anymore." Jesus added softly; sadly. "Not since Joey was killed. He just...watches over the Hilltop. Day in and day out. He feels guilty; like it's _his_ fault, what happened to us. We saw it coming, but we could do nothing to stop it. He believes he deserves that cane. And worse, I think, sometimes."

Michonne knew that Rick would feel the same way. She felt empathy well up inside her for her old friend. And Jesus.

Michonne turned to gaze at him, studying his face. His concern for Murdock went far beyond friendship, or partnership. She could sense it, written in his entire being. She didn't rightly know when tonight he had stopped pretending (somewhere around their second glass of scotch, maybe), but now that he had, it was obvious.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" She voiced her suspicion gently.

The silver-tongued leader's ocean blue eyes rose to hers and he nodded. His answer was as plain and matter-of-fact as her assessment. "Yes."

Michonne sighed. "Good. He needs you."

Jesus was glad to see that it was her only reaction. He couldn't pretend to himself that she was blind, and truth be told, he had secretly been hoping she would bring it up.

"I know." Jesus smiled to himself, thinking of the way his relationship had developed with Murdock. Then he thought of the ruggedly handsome man who offered to 'kill 'em all' in the name of saving the future of four different communities. He had a feeling that if it weren't for Michonne, their new ally might have a much different answer to the Hilltop's plea for war. "Rick needs _you_ , too, Michonne."

"I know." She echoed him. "The feeling is mutual."

Jesus raised an eyebrow, taking another sip of wine and passing it back. The quiet enveloped them as Michonne thought about all the ways that meeting Rick Grimes and his children had saved her. Mind, body, and soul.

"I wasn't...a person anymore, before I met him." Jesus simply listened, watching her face in the nighttime gloom as the look in her eyes traveled back to darker times. "I had to close precious parts of myself off. Hide them from myself. I wasn't a mother. I wasn't a daughter. A girlfriend." She scoffed. "A lawyer. I was nothing. No one. But Rick...and Carl...and Judith…" She had to fight off an intense wave of emotion that made her eyes water and her full lips quiver as she thought about the first time she held Judith. How pain seemed to ricochet through every part of her when she had finally allowed herself to acknowledge the gaping hole losing her precious little boy had caused inside her. "They saved me. In every way. I came more alive, loving and protecting them, fighting beside Rick and Carl, than I'd been in a long time. Since that day."

Jesus didn't ask what day she meant. He knew perfectly well she was speaking of the time she lost her child. He felt her anguish, even though he could never truly experience it. It was a pain reserved only for a parent. It was pain like no other. As much as Jesus wanted to hope that one day he would know what it was like, being a father, he dreaded ever coming to know the agony Michonne was exuding through the very pores of her smooth, glowing skin.

Michonne wiped her eyes and exhaled slowly, offering him a sad smile. "So. I need them just as much as they need me. Maybe more. Because of them, I know what I'm capable of now."

"You're willing to die for them, aren't you?" He asked, in awe of her. In awe of their bond - the bond of people who would otherwise be complete strangers; who might never even cross paths in the old world. _This_ world still held its share of beauty, it was reinforced in his mind. He was looking at it; he'd been looking at it all night, in Rick and Michonne; Glenn and Maggie.

She nodded. "They're part of me, now. I'm not going back. I'd die without them anyway." Then her expression became fiercely determined, and Jesus found his admiration for her growing even more. He liked Michonne. He liked her a lot. He hoped they could become friends. For a long time. "I'm not giving them - _any_ of this - up without a fight. If I die trying, so be it. You know what I mean?"

He chuckled grimly. "I know what you mean. And _ditto_." They passed the bottle again. "Count yourself lucky. You don't have to hide what you have with Rick. In fact, it makes you stronger leaders. How open you are with each other. How in sync you are. It's fascinating to watch." He shook his head, scoffing. "Not many people around here know about me and Murdock. We decided they didn't need to. I'm not entirely sure why. Lizzie knows, of course. She's a hawk."

"You're good at hiding, I noticed. Your booze, your skills...your heart. Muscle memory?"

"You could say that." He nodded, but didn't elaborate just yet.

Michonne found herself feeling loose; languid; _open_. It was definitely the drinking, but it was also the evening. The dress. The food. Murdock. And her new buddy Jesus. She frowned (more like scrunched her face up with bemused curiosity). "So, is Jesus really your name?"

Once again, Jesus laughed out loud. She was good at making him laugh. Calling him out. Yes, he liked Michonne very much. "Believe it or not? No." The young, bearded enigma settled in beside her, making himself as comfortable as he could on his butt on the floor, and leaned his shoulder against hers. He handed her the bottle again. "It's Paul. Rovia. Jesus was a nickname I picked up in the old world that...stuck. When that world ended, Paul died a slow, silent death. Like Michonne the Defense Attorney. So, I became Jesus. The rest is history."

"But what _is_ the history?" She asked, feeling it only fair since he seemed to know more about her than she did him, thanks to Murdock.

That by-now-familiar smirk crossed his lips. "You'll think I'm full of shit."

"Well, now I'm _really_ curious…" She nudged him with her shoulder and offered him the bottle. He took it, still hesitating. "Spill."

She watched his smile grow, and he looked slightly embarrassed, but he sighed and nodded in concession. "Before the world ended, I was a stunt man."

Michonne started laughing. "A _what!?_ " He rolled his eyes patiently at her, allowing her to get her sudden amusement out of her system. Michonne could not help the ripples of laughter that rolled through her at the behest of the wine she'd consumed and the image of Jesus/Paul jumping out of flaming cars and diving off of buildings. But the longer she thought about it, the more it made sense. "Oh, please don't stop there."

Jesus couldn't help joining in on some of her quiet laughter, knowing how ridiculous it sounded, feeling how far away his past was to him now. It was like a box of memories sitting unattended on an island, and he was on a boat far out at sea, looking at it through a telescope. But, it _was_ his past, and it had shaped his here and now, so he could not hate it entirely. He had long since stopped mourning it, but tonight was the first time he'd spoken of it to anyone other than Murdock or Lizzie.

His winter-blue eyes became unfocused as he remembered his past, staring at the wine bottle in his hands. "My career was just getting going, but I had already done some work on some pretty big action movies." Michonne opened her mouth to ask, but he shook his head, grinning mysteriously. "Don't make me tell you which ones. Let's just say...I jumped out of a plane for Matt Damon once."

Michonne whistled low, nodding her approval. "Wow. I'm impressed."

Jesus shrugged. "I was very ambitious. I wanted to be the best; the first one they called. And I was on my way." He sighed, remembering how hungry he'd been; how hard he'd worked to construct his career...and his reputation. They went hand in hand in Hollywood. "I did things, to help myself along. Things my mother, rest her soul, wouldn't approve of."

His new friend frowned, detecting the note of sadness in his soft, benign voice. She waited for him to go on, not wishing to force him to talk about things he would rather not relive. She knew that feeling all too well: When the past threatened to disrupt your very carefully constructed equilibrium. It could sometimes feel as though you may never get it back. The giant shockwaves that would hit you when you found yourself connecting to a past that had been ripped and torn away from you in the storm of the century - the storm of the dead.

Jesus raised his eyebrows, remembering, his eyes still unfocused. "They said the 'casting couch' stopped being a thing, but that's only because the world stopped caring about it." He smiled wistfully, shrugging. "I gained a reputation for being discreet. It served my career well. I was a young gay man willing to do anything he could to get a leg up in Hollywood." Michonne was momentarily confused as his smile fully bloomed, now. His words were full of sadness, but he seemed utterly amused and even a little proud as he continued: "'Jesus' wasn't just a nickname. It was a stamp of approval. Usually the last thing a lot of them said when I was finished with them. I'm...quite skilled. Or I used to be. _Matt_ certainly enjoyed himself..."

Michonne's eyebrows rose to the top of her forehead. "No."

Jesus nodded, grinning proudly, still. "Oh yes. The man's penis was as crooked as a squash, but his cum tasted like applesauce. I swear. I think he was vegan."

Again, unable to stop herself, Michonne laughed out loud. Jesus joined her. He raised the bottle in salute to new friendships, Matt Damon, and his crooked penis. They took turns helping themselves to large swigs of delicious vintage wine. Tonight was a night Michonne would not soon forget. Jesus, either. After their amusement died down, and the mirth faded from their smiles, Jesus sighed again.

"I'm tired of hiding, Michonne." He met her gaze, quite serious now.

"You shouldn't have to," she answered softly, acknowledging the multiple meanings behind his words.

Hiding his skills from the Saviors. Hiding his past from himself. Hiding his love for her old friend from everyone else, almost instinctually. She felt sad for him. And determined to free him of that burden. They had only just met, but right now Michonne felt they had an understanding on a deeper level than she ever expected, especially so soon. She found herself grateful for it.

" _Don't._ We're going to need you. The _whole_ you. In this war, and while we're building this future we all want so bad. There's too much at stake."

He understood exactly what she meant. They weren't just risking their lives, they were risking their hearts, their souls. They _both_ understood that Rick intended to lay waste to every Savior they encountered, and most likely the Wolves too. They'd made peace with this agenda, but they still had to gather themselves (their courage, their emotional fortitude, their own consciences) to act on it.

They needed to stick together - the two of them, partners in a silent mission to keep the bonds of this alliance between their communities strong, productive, and hopeful. Once the slaughter was over, if they came out the other side of it alive, Michonne and Jesus would take it upon themselves to help their families recover from the trauma as best they could. It was the biggest thing the two of them had in common: their ability to nurture and reassure; to heal. Even while they suffered from gaping, aching wounds of their own.

"The war for the future starts tomorrow." He declared. They nodded to each other in silent agreement. More than that. They made a pact, right there sitting on the floor next to each other, the ties of their developing bond becoming stronger, entwining. "But tonight I'm glad for the momentary distraction."

"Me too. We needed this."

"What d'you say we keep this distraction going for a bit?"

"Amen." They drank more. Michonne couldn't help thinking about Rick. The unabashed love in his gorgeous eyes. His slow, deep, southern drawl. His strong, lean body. The intensity of his every move, both when he was leading and when they were together alone. She shifted on her butt, finding herself inching closer and closer to arousal, just thinking about him.

Jesus was doing the same, thinking of Murdock. He was strong, and sure of himself when they were together. He was a source of peace Jesus never expected to find in this shitty world they survived in.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" He asked his new friend after a moment of silent reflection, finding it harder and harder to suppress the residual effects of thinking of Murdock's intense lovemaking.

"God, yes."

"Ask and you shall receive...just wait here a moment. I'll send you a little distraction." Jesus suddenly gave her a sweet, soft peck on the cheek and stood up, leaving her with the wine to finish. She watched him as he turned around and began to back up, his eyes shining down at her with a new kind of affection, reserved only for her. "By the way - I can teach you how to properly use that sword."

Michonne raised an eyebrow, offended and curious at the same time. He raised his hands in self defense, and she remembered: he _was_ highly-skilled, at a lot of things, apparently. She had the feeling that the longer she knew him, the more he would surprise her with what he was capable of. She wasn't going to complain about him offering to pass on some of that knowledge.

"You're very good, don't get me wrong, especially being self-taught. But with a little training? Baby, you could be _unstoppable_. Think about it."

With that he winked at her and turned around to disappear from the darkened library. Michonne watched him go, his long brown hair falling over his shoulder, his movements graceful and confident. He was one charming motherfucker. She liked him. A lot. She hoped Murdock would do right by him. She did more than hope. She determined to _make sure_ he did.

* * *

 _Meanwhile…_

"Can I ask you somethin'...?" Abraham, on the verge of being very drunk, leaned forward in his chair across the table from Glenn, gesturing with his almost empty scotch glass.

Glenn blinked at him patiently, nodding for him to go on. He was pretty much drunk, too. So was Daryl. They had to do something to occupy themselves while they waited for everyone to return from wherever the hell they'd gone. Or not return, considering how the night was going.

"Sure, man."

Abe frowned, trying to come up with the words. Finally they appeared in his head out of nowhere, like most of his deep contemplations about the world these days. "When you were…pourin' the Bisquick...were you _tryin'_ to make pancakes?"

Daryl rolled his eyes and scoffed at such a dumbass question, but Glenn only looked momentarily confused. Finally, he gathered Abe's meaning and raised his eyebrows in sudden comprehension. He smiled, unable to help himself. "Um...y-yes? Yeah. Why?"

Abraham shook his head at the brave little bastard in awe. He thought it should be pretty fuckin' obvious why he was asking. "That's some pretty bold shit in this gapin' asshole of a world, man. For the record? I see rain comin', I'm wearing galoshes. Hell, I'd _double up_."

Glenn sighed, wishing he had Maggie back at his side. She was doing what she did best - looking after people. It was one of the things he loved most about her. One of the things he hoped they could pass on to their child. He was filled with hope, just thinking about it. That was the point. "We're trying to build something, here. Not just for me and Maggie. For all of us."

Abe nodded, feeling something stir inside him. Yeah, he envied Glenn and Maggie. But he just could not see himself being _that_ kinda brave. He could face a man down any time and place; look his own death in the eyes and smile back...but the thought of giving his heart and soul over to love, to children, to family again after what he'd lost? It was almost like thinking about enthusiastically setting himself on fire. Self-immolation just wasn't on his bucket list. He didn't think it would ever be. He realized that meant he'd likely be empty inside until his dying moment, but it was better than risking the unimaginable pain of losing a family again.

Daryl stared at his boots propped up on Murdock and Jesus's table, feeling something stir inside him, too. Something that scared the hell out of him. Something like desire - for that exact kind of hope and love Glenn so completely exuded in spades. He was jealous. He didn't like that feeling one little bit. And at the moment, he didn't know what the hell he was prepared to do about it.

Abraham raised his glass to Glenn in salute and tipped it back, finishing it off. "Good for you, brother. I hope it works out."

"You hope what works out?" Maggie's smokey southern twang floated into the room from the doorway. She had returned from helping with Dana, finally. She walked up to the table and ran her hands down Glenn's shoulders and chest from behind him. He took hold of her arms and gave her a tender squeeze, closing his eyes as she kissed his neck and cheek softly. "Hey…"

"Hey. How'd it go?" He asked, reluctantly letting her go so she could take her place next to him at the table again.

She sighed, running a hand through her soft brown hair and reaching for the scotch bottle. For a moment, Glenn was nervous that she was going to drink the last of it, but she simply moved it back and forth across the table in her hands, staring at the last of it's amber contents glowing in the candlelight.

"Dana was raped. She's as good as can be expected right now. But she'll be dealin' with that forever." Her heart ached for the girl.

"And that angry-lookin' kid? Her boyfriend?" Daryl asked sadly, showing empathy for people they'd only just met. Inside, he was boiling with anger for them both. He didn't know them, but he knew nobody deserved what happened to them. Nobody.

Glenn and Abraham felt exactly the same.

"He's ready to do somethin' about it," was all Maggie would say, but every man at the table knew exactly what she meant. That kid was going to help them kill every Savior he could. Starting with Tito.

" _Fuckin' A_ , he is." Abraham agreed enthusiastically. "I'll hold the fucker down for 'im." He made a finger gun and pulled the trigger. "We'll spell her name on the wall with that dickless bastard's brains."

Glenn sighed. "This is gonna be one hell of a fight. Are we up for this?"

Maggie let go of the scotch bottle (Abraham immediately reached for it) and gazed at her husband confidently. "We don't have a choice. Rick and Jesus are right - we _have_ to win this. We _will_."

"I don't want you anywhere near this." Glenn said resolutely, his expression telling her he'd already made up his mind and she wouldn't be able to make him budge.

"I can take care of myself…" she said futilely. He clenched his jaw, not backing down. Glenn usually didn't try to assert any kind of rule over her. He supported her in anything; everything. But when he _did_ make up his mind about something, especially if it came to protecting her, he was as fierce and stolid as Rick could be. Only he was much quieter about it. She relented, holding his hand across the table. "It's alright, baby. Dr. Corday already told me I would have to say here so she can do a full workup on me. I want this child to be born. Healthy. I'll stay out of trouble."

She hated staying behind while her husband and her family went off to fight. But the baby was just as much the key to their future survival as winning the war was. This would be her sacrifice; her mission. It had to be. Glenn nodded, relieved.

"This shit is gonna get ugly…" Daryl remarked, breaking up the love fest. "I know that look in Rick's eyes. He ain't fuckin' around."

"It's gonna cost us somethin'. Somethin' big." Maggie muttered softly in agreement.

They all let that reality settle on them in silence. It was heavy. But it felt exactly right.

" _This_ is the deal, though," Glenn offered after a moment, to get them focused on the positive again. " _This_ is the trade. This means food and supplies, hopefully for the rest of our lives. This means other communities that can help us fight future threats. This is what we've been hoping for. We _have_ to fight for it. Or Negan's just gonna destroy us, one by one."

"I'll be a dead dog in the street before I let _that_ shit transpire, amigo," Abraham reassured him. "We got the weapons and the know-how. Hell, we got a bonafide suicide squad." He raised his now refilled glass to Daryl. "The best tracker around." Now to Glenn. "A ragin' Asian with a heart o'gold."

Glenn rolled his eyes and shook his head at Abraham's drunken, semi-racist foolery. The big redhead lifted his glass to the ceiling, aimed at wherever Michonne and Rick were at present.

"And let's not forget our fierce, batshit crazy leader and his Nubian samurai."

"Okay, man, gimme the scotch." Glenn reached for it, and Abraham snatched it away with a grin as he downed it in one go. "You're drunk and you're starting to piss me off."

"Sorry, there, brother. Just offeren' some words of encouragement."

"Yeah, well, they're shitty ass words, _brother_. So, try again, or better yet: Shut up." Daryl said gruffly.

Abe waved a dismissive hand at them all. "Love is love in any language," he said nonsensically, causing the table at large to groan at him. He laughed, amused by their annoyance with him. He took it as familial affection. They knew exactly who he was. And they knew he'd fight and die beside them no matter what. Drunk as a skunk or crazy as a bedbug, he could only be himself. "Alright - how about this? There's no finer group of people left on earth than you assholes. I love ya. I'll die with ya. So, let's quit analyzing this shit like a bunch of pussies and get it done."

Daryl couldn't argue with that. He raised his empty glass and they clinked. "That's good enough, I guess."

After a moment, Glenn raised his empty glass, too. "Sure, man. You're kind of a son-of-a-bitch, but I'll go to war with you any day. Okay?"

"That's music to my ears, friend. I knew I'd wiggled my way into your heart. Look at ya blushin' over there." They all laughed at him, the tension broken, making him happy.

They all agreed. They were going to march their happy asses into war with smiles on their faces and a desire for vengeance on their minds. Abraham didn't say it (for once), but he knew their leader Rick wouldn't have it any other way.

"So how about that doctor?" He mused, changing the subject. " _She_ looks like two handfuls of 'freak in the sheets'."

"Don't make me take back the compliment, man, come on." Glenn complained, exasperated. "Seriously?"

"You're an ass." Maggie declared matter-of-factly.

"Well, you can put a turd in a bowtie but it's still just a turd in the end, ain't it? Just stayin' true to myself, darlin'." Abraham gave them a wink and a deep, raspy chuckle. Being with these folks felt like home sweet home, even when they wanted to punch his lights out. He couldn't ask for better.

* * *

"So...what do you think?" Murdock asked, his deep voice rumbling in his chest underneath Jesus's cheek and ear.

They were laying on the settee, enjoying the peace and relative quiet, listening to the faint sounds of activity wafting through the house. It sounded like Rick's group was still awake; still enjoying the here and now, before the storm that was gathering threatened to darken their horizon once again.

The Hilltop leaders decided to do the same.

Jesus liked it immensely when 'Doc allowed him to lay there listening to him breathe. He knew it was somewhat sentimental, but thankfully his partner never complained or even questioned it. It was part of what made the man irresistible - his ability to give the people around him parts of himself when they needed it without them having to ask. It was the same instinct that drove him to build this place. The same that drove him to offer himself up to Negan's bat to save Joey. It was a trait one simply could not find in most men.

Jesus smiled. "I think they could be family. I'm working on it, anyway." Murdock chuckled, the rumbling lasting longer this time against Jesus's face. He turned his blue eyes up to meet his lover's. "They are a cast of interesting characters, you must admit. Abraham…"

They laughed together, both of them thinking of all the mayhem that fell from that dude's mustachioed lips.

"He's hiding a lot of pain." Murdock assessed, his smile fading. "No one's that goofy in these times without some serious loss to show for it. Or not show, the way he shoots off at the mouth."

"We're all entitled to cope in our own ways, 'Doc. _You_ have. Don't think I haven't noticed that you've been avoiding your physical therapy."

"Let's focus on the issue at hand, okay?" Murdock smirked, poking Jesus in the ribs. The younger man rolled his eyes but he let it go - for now. Murdock sighed; Jesus listened to his lungs pull in and let out the air. The sound was precious to him; even if he didn't admit it aloud. "I showed Rick the photographs. The ones I showed you that night we found this place."

"Mm." Jesus frowned, remembering. It had been raining. More like storming. They had been looking for shelter. Food. Hope. Anything. They found the Hilltop. That night, the first night they made love, Murdock showed him the photos and told him that he was going to let the past go, finally. "What did he say?"

"He said I should give Andre's to Michonne. And he thanked me."

"Good. You should. I think she'd appreciate it. She's strong, but she hasn't healed yet. Not completely."

"You and her seem to get along well. That makes me happy."

Murdock angled his face down to gaze into his lover's, who smiled with a mysterious gleam in his eyes. "I enjoy her company; very much. We understand each other on a level I hadn't expected." He didn't offer any other explanation, and Murdock didn't need one.

They continued their assessment of the group.

"Rick is perfect for her, by the way."

"Heh." Murdock agreed, chuckling. He had to admit, Jesus was right. Like usual. "The beauty and the bad boy. Never used to be her type. Times, they are a-changin'."

"You jealous?"

"Grateful. She found someone, like I found you, to make this life - this world - worth living in. Same with Glenn and Maggie. Their kindness gives me hope. That child she's carrying, too."

Jesus felt a pang of longing, thinking of children, but he nodded in agreement, shoving his own desires aside. Their community family was enough, for now. Had to be. "We're going to win this. Right?"

The two lovers looked into each other's souls, searching for both hope and the bald, unflinching truth. Murdock leaned down and kissed Jesus tenderly, reaching an arm around to hug him to his body on the settee. "Something tells me that Rick Grimes is a man of his word. And I know my 'Chonne. She's still in there. Only better than ever. We're going to win this."

Jesus, overcome with love for this big, strong, benevolent man, kissed him fiercely, hugging him back. "I love you, you know."

They had never said it aloud. They both felt it, but the words had never quite made it out into the ether. Murdock was silent for a moment, gazing down at Jesus's lips, which made him feel a little nervous. But then, he felt strong fingers in his beard, tilting his head up further. "I love you too, Paul. Always have."

"Prove it…" he whispered against the man's thick lips, causing him to smile.

"Yes sir." They kissed again, this time not stopping.

* * *

 _Late that night…_

"He was my best friend."

Cricket song wafted into the room through the open balcony doors as Michonne and Rick lay in each other's arms in the big bed of their room for the night - his head cradled in her lap, her hands moving languidly, comfortingly, through his curls. They decided to play their questions game again, though Rick had a heart, and kept his insatiable desire for her at bay. He had exhausted her, by all accounts. She wasn't complaining, but he knew she could only take so much of everything he had to give in such a short period of time. Physically, anyway. He felt like he could make love to her forever, but he had to let her recover at some point.

So he decided to give her something else besides his body. She already had his heart. He decided to give her his past. Tonight had only increased his desire to know more about hers. So they asked, and they answered, and it was just as intimate as their romp in the library. Maybe more so.

Michonne had finally asked about Shane. The pain of his betrayal was still as thorny and gut-wrenching as it had been when it happened, but Rick obliged. He lay in her lap, cradling her legs in his arms, and told her the story.

"I remember...feelin' relief...and guilt...and anger so strong it almost tore me in two. He made me do it. He had a choice, and he chose to die. I wish to hell he hadn't." He said quietly, the memories clogging his head and heart like thick fog. He tried not to choke up, clinging to her. "And Lori. She _hated_ me for it. I'll never forget that. I did it for her, for Carl. And she hated me."

He knew now that it was mostly because what he had done scared the hell out of her. But at the time, her judgement was a big, bitter pill to swallow.

"I'm so sorry, Rick…"

He sighed long and hard, reaching up to wipe his damp eyes, and shook his head. He kissed her stomach, reveling in her warmth and softness. Rick turned his face up to hers, resting his chin on her pelvis, his scratchy stubble feeling pleasant and familiar. "I used to be. But I'm not anymore. I hate that Carl had to see that. But...I'd do it again. Especially since everythin' that happened after led me to you."

They gazed at each other with love swimming in their eyes. He crawled back up to her level and wrapped her in his arms, nuzzling his face into her hair. "My turn…"

Michonne settled in against his body, fitting together with him like they were made for exactly this. She would never get over it. She waited for his question, her eyes slipping shut, exhausted from the day's events, her semi-drunkenness from before wearing off and turning into sheer fatigue. He felt it, too, but he was immensely curious about one thing.

"What's your last name?" He uttered the question softly into her dreadlocs, squeezing her close. She had never told him, and he had never asked. He had never asked a lot of things. This was important to him, for some reason he couldn't quite name. All he knew was that it didn't feel right, him not having that information about her all this time. After tonight, meeting Murdock, seeing those pictures, with war on the horizon, he wanted to know her in every way possible. This was the start.

Michonne was silent for so long he feared she'd fallen asleep, or that he had triggered some trauma she hadn't revealed yet. But then she uttered: "Lindani."

The name washed over him like a warm tide in the middle of the ocean on a mild summer evening. It was beautiful. And perfect. Their questions game was over, for now. He couldn't ask for more; it was _everything_ , for such a _little_ thing. "Lindani…" he said, his southern drawl doing it no justice.

She smiled into the pillow as he kissed her hair, neck, and shoulders tenderly. He couldn't stop saying it between kisses, on the verge of begging to be let inside her again, so overwhelmed with love and desire for her. His Michonne. Michonne Lindani. He found he hadn't been this happy and in love since the day Carl was born.

Michonne was glad she could give him a piece of herself that no single other person left in the world had, save Murdock.

Rick and Michonne fell asleep in each other's arms, and all through the house, their family did the same. Maggie and Glenn in their own little sanctuary of love and hope down the hall. Abraham alone with the empty bottle of ancient scotch cradled to his chest, dreams of fiery strawberry blonde curls dancing through his mind. Daryl down on a rusty cot in the servant's quarters, gazing up at the stars, thinking of Carol.

They would march off to war tomorrow.

But tonight, Jesus had achieved his goal of giving them all a belief that things could (and _would_ , if they had anything to say about it) be beautiful again.


	12. rise and reconcile

_now I don't hardly know her_

 _but I think I could love her_

 _crimson and clover_

 _here she comes walkin' over_

 _yeah, I been waitin' to show her_

 _over and over_

 _my, my such a sweet thing_

 _I wanna do everything_

 _what a beautiful feeling_

 _crimson and clover_

 _over and over_

-Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, 'Crimson and Clover'

* * *

When the sun began to rise the next morning, Hilltop was as silent as a graveyard.

Somewhere in the vast landscape that made up the entirety of their territory, a rooster's call announced that it was dawn. Otherwise, there was no sound but the large, sleeping house atop the hill settling in on itself; creaking or groaning here and there as echoes bounced off the walls and disappeared into the old rugs and curtains.

Rick and Michonne were at first dead to the world; him laying on his stomach, her laying on her back. One of his long, strong arms was draped over her slender waist in a protective embrace. His face was buried in her pillow, but also tucked into her dreads so she could both hear and feel the slow rumble of his breathing. Her face was turned away, toward the balcony windows next to the large bed, her skin beginning to grow warm as pale sunlight flooded the room. She woke up smiling, hearing the rooster's second call in the distance this time. It was something amusing yet completely serious, that sound. For some reason, it signaled precious prosperity to her. And almost comical domesticity for these times.

This place was indeed a trip. Like an apocalyptic bed and breakfast, she mused sleepily, yawning and stretching as gently as she could so as not to disturb the weary gunslinger still slumbering beside her.

Her movement did wake him up, but she felt his cock begin to stiffen and push against her hip long before his eyes fluttered open. Still deep in the clutches of semi-sleep, half caught in a dream, Rick tightened his grip on her, encircling his arm around her waist, and pulled her so close to him that his eyelashes brushed against her skin. He slowly began to grind his hips, rubbing himself along the silky, supple flesh of the side of her ass, his nose and plush lips pressed against her smooth cheek. Rick exhaled on her, giving her a few slow, feather-soft kisses before uttering sweetly: "Mornin', baby."

Michonne bit her lip, a chill slithering through her. Rick had the ability to completely unravel her cool with just the look in his eyes, and the sound of his voice. Especially in the morning. The sound of his voice in the morning was - and would forever be - the sexiest thing she'd ever heard. His slow, southern drawl was coated with sleep and as gravelly as ever, but also soft and loving. She could always hear his arousal in his morning voice, like a warm caress that traveled from her sensitive, erect nipples to her tender sex. His power over her had only grown stronger since he'd started fucking her with more than just his gaze. She was wet in seconds.

Rick started to climb out of his dreams, breathing her in deeply. He became alert to the fact that he had her naked and probably wet already, right there next to him. He knew she was sore, and there was no protection in sight, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted her so desperately it hurt. Always.

God help him, he had it _bad_ for Michonne Lindani. He was high on the intimacy between them, and rapidly becoming addicted. He wanted more. Much more. He finally knew her whole name and he'd finally confessed his deepest pain. That anxious feeling he'd had in his gut all day yesterday was gone, now. _She_ had done that. Lori, rest her soul, had never been able to do that. In the later years of their marriage, and before her tragic death in the tombs, she actually made it worse. He couldn't think of her with the anger he used to hold anymore, but it was hard to miss when the woman lying next to him was so impossibly good at making him feel like everything would be alright. As long as she remained where she'd always belonged. By his side.

Rick exhaled roughly, pulling her even closer to him, causing her to turn her head to accept his rapidly intensifying kisses. Once he had access, he wasted no time pulling her succulent bottom lip into his mouth hungrily. Her lips were as soft and moist as cake. He couldn't stop kissing them. He knew they had to get up, get dressed, and start putting their plans for the Saviors in motion. He just wanted to drink her in for a little bit longer, as long as they could, before he had to let her go. He wanted every kiss he could get. And more.

His cock was bone hard, deep pink, and leaking heavily. Michonne gasped weakly against his lips, feeling him grinding into her, slick and solid, reveling in the possessive grip he had on her.

"Lay on your back for me, cowboy," his dusky warrior uttered sexily, causing Rick's abdomen to clench with a jolt of heated arousal. " _Mmmm,_ please, Rick? I want you in my mouth..."

Dazed with desire, Rick nodded, reluctantly letting her go to do as she asked. He gazed at her worshipfully as she gently nudged him, turning him around so he could settle down into the mattress again on his back.

She was the only person on this earth who could get away with calling him that. The way she let the word slip from her lips sounded so dirty, but _so sensual_. It made him feel as powerful and fearless as a bull rider, and yet as smitten and bashful as a horny teenager. And when she begged with that husky, breathless voice of hers, it drove him _fuckin' crazy_.

He would give her anything she wanted just for that look of wicked determination in her eyes.

Michonne wanted him on his back. And she wanted him in her mouth. She pushed him down gently, and he settled there without protest. His head was propped up by a small mountain of pillows, his dark curls slightly (adorably) in disarray, his pale blue eyes gleaming with lust in the morning sunlight. He was so handsome. The way he looked at her always drew her in, rendering her unable to focus on anything but him. His lips were so pink, thick, and perfect. Couched in salt and pepper scruff that made them stand out. He grinned lazily, releasing his bottom lip from his teeth, his deep dimples making her pussy clench. _Damn_ , she loved her crazy, sexy old man.

And she was about to show him exactly how much. So he would never forget.

Michonne crawled up to him on her stomach like a cat, placing her hands on his chest, draping a leg across his body so he could rub his dick gently along her slick folds.

Her juices mingled with his precum, driving him to close his eyes and pull her up to him forcefully for a kiss. He bucked into her, desperately seeking entry but stopping short, instead letting her feel, right along her dripping center, how excited he was for her. He didn't wish to rush; he'd end up causing her pain if he did. He was at her mercy.

Michonne did indeed feel how excited he was, twitching and stiffening even further as they smashed themselves into each other. She slowly broke their kiss, licking his bottom lip teasingly. "Good boy…" she said against his scratchy chin, and he tightened his grip on her, overcome with desire. _Fuck, she was sexy_. He had no time to think on it further, as she began to slide herself down his body again. Her eyes never left his as she widened her legs and pushed her ass out so that the sheets fell away from her body like a cream-colored waterfall. Her beautiful, heart-shaped behind was exposed to him, sliding down into that sexy ass dip in her spine as she unfolded herself around him, giving him a mouth watering visual. A sea of deep, smooth skin, punctuated by gorgeous curves. The sight of it made his cock twitch with intense yearning.

Michonne ruthlessly took advantage of his momentary preoccupation with her ass to quickly take him into her mouth. He had to gasp sharply as her exquisitely slippery, soft tongue slowly rubbed against his head, then down his shaft. "Mich…ugh, _shit..!_ " Rick grunted, unable to stop himself from reflexively lacing his fingers through her now loose locs. He watched her in a daze, hypnotized by the vision of her unbelievable body spread out before him; her head bobbing up and down slowly, locs falling over her shoulder; his hard, engorged cock disappearing between her gorgeous lips over and over again. She moaned around him, causing him to bite his lip and glare down at her as she worked. She took him inside her mouth with concentrated pressure and kept him wet the whole time. It was one of the most erotic scenes he'd ever witnessed. Soon he had to buck his hips gently, his eyes rolling back into his head and another grunt of helpless pleasure escaping him as he concentrated on how it felt.

She was gonna send him to his grave. Her mouth was a warm glove. Her silky tongue was slippery and cunning. Circling his acutely sensitive head, massaging his thick shaft with love and care that rendered him utterly dizzy with pleasure. "Jesus, Michonne… _oh god_ you feel so good..." he groaned quietly, praying to the ceiling, completely awed by the pitch perfect pressure of her sucking mouth and the heavenly wetness of her stroking tongue.

When she wrapped one of her cool hands around him, adding more pressure, stroking him faster and faster, wetting him from hilt to tip, he could only lay back and moan. His hips locked and his abdomen clenched as Michonne worked him into a grunting, grinding ball of nerve endings that all pointed to his cock, winding his hundred and fifty some-odd pounds of toned flesh tight like a coiled spring. Her mouth so wet and exquisite, her hand so deft and snug; applying pressure to his head over and over again as she licked, sucked, and stroked him into the mattress without mercy. He chanced opening his eyes again to look down at her, and it sealed his doom.

Rick came like a gunshot. " _Holy fuck, goddamn, shit, baby, urrgh…"_ A string of whisper-soft curses escaped his gritted teeth as his warm load gushed out of him, into her mouth.

Michonne swallowed hungrily, moaning with him as she sucked him dry. His grinding hips moved in tandem with the grip of his orgasm as it ripped through him relentlessly until she had sucked every drop of cum from his gushing shaft.

Chills spread through him as she continued to gently lick and suck at him like he was a melting popsicle. He hissed with barely contained pleasure. Her lingering tongue play made every twitch of the aftershock feel doubly intense. Finally, she let him go, causing his body to go as boneless as a jello mold.

Michonne licked her lips, pride glinting in her large brown eyes. Rick could only just lay there for a moment, tingling from head to toe. She was discovering that she loved to watch him come undone for her. She smiled as she kissed his softening shaft, giggling at the dopey look on his face.

He was too relaxed and satisfied to care that she was laughing at him. He simply watched her in awe, not ready to leave this sanctuary away from home just yet. Knowing that they needed to. Soon.

" _Damn_ , baby..." Rick sighed, stroking her cheek, completely content. Head over heels in love. "Warn a fella next time."

"Where's the fun in that?" She smirked, licking the little nook between his pelvis and thigh. Rick couldn't help jerking at the ticklish sensation, biting his lip to suppress a wide grin. Michonne laughed quietly at him, knowing she was going to do that to him every chance she could get, just to see that boyish smile.

Rick was a hardened, fierce man. But that wasn't why he would always be _her_ man. Behind walls, in their bed, he was also shy and sweet, quietly happy, and intensely romantic; all the things most of this world never got to see. He reserved those parts of himself for her, and it only made her love him more.

A light knock on the door shattered their secluded tranquility, and they both lost their smiles simultaneously. Rick and Michonne sat up together, peering over at the door as a journal-sized sheet of faded paper slipped under it. There was no other knocking, no other sound, not even footsteps - just the note.

They both knew it was probably Jesus.

Relaxing again, Rick plastered several sloppy, appreciative kisses along Michonne's neck and jaw before rising from the bed. He stretched, shuddering at the sheer memory of the monster orgasm his love had just coaxed out of him with her phenomenal mouth.

He sauntered naked across the room, scooped up the note, and squinted down at it.

 _Breakfast downstairs in an hour..._

As a signature, Jesus had drawn a little stick figure of himself juggling eggs.

Rick scoffed, returning to the bed and handing it to her. Michonne smiled as she read it. Bed and breakfast, indeed. A time capsule that housed the past and the future, where they'd somehow lost their heads in each other again, this time for different reasons. And Jesus, bless him, was trying to sober them up to the real world outside as gently as possible. He was going to give them time to rise and adjust, and then he was going to feed them.

"He's layin' it on a little thick, don't you think?" Rick drawled, kissing her neck again, inhaling her lovely natural scent, made even more intoxicating for the lingering aroma of her arousal. He couldn't get enough of it.

"You're not hungry?" She challenged, raising a suspicious eyebrow.

Rick moved his kisses from her neck up to her succulent lips. "Jesus _can_ cook his ass off. But we've still got an hour..." he breathed, kissing her several more times, making her sex quiver and her nipples tingle, "and I'm hungry for somethin' sweet."

Fuck. His voice did it again. Michonne tossed the note aside, breakfast forgotten for now. It was Rick's turn to gently force her on her back. He spread her legs very slowly, glaring at her like a predator the entire time, his thick, pink lips pursed with anticipation. Seconds later Michonne was moaning and writhing against his chiseled face as he devoured her drenched sex, alternating between playing her clit with his tongue and gently sucking it into his mouth. When she laced her slender fingers through his curls and held on tight, he knew he had her where he wanted her. He worked her tender, soaking wet pussy with his eager tongue until her entire body vibrated around his face and shoulders, and he heard wild, breathless moans floating down to him. The sound of her so overcome with pleasure made him rock hard again.

Proud of himself, Rick licked his lips of her tangy-sweet cream and kissed his way back up her body until he reached her mouth. They made out for a long time, simply enjoying the taste of each other. The large canopy bed felt like an island in the morning quiet. It was only penetrated by rays of soft, golden sunlight, and the breathless panting of Rick and Michonne as they lost themselves in each other for the next thirty minutes.

They made love again slowly, staring into each other's eyes. He whispered that he loved her as he pushed his pulsing, unyielding length into her slick heat and began an intense rhythm that hypnotized them both. She reciprocated, kissing his face and running her fingers through his hair as he filled her, hitting her at an angle that made her body quiver underneath his. They went on and on in the sunlit solitude, watching each other climb closer to climax, gazing into each other's souls, breathing each other's air - until they both came with an intensity that obliterated any of the other times since they'd started this. Michonne first, drenching his cock. Her walls tightened around it with powerful spasms as his name fell from her lips in desperate whispers. Rick quickly followed, grunting as his abdomen clenched and pure pleasure washed over him. He pulled out this time, not wishing to push his luck twice, grinding against her stomach with his face buried in her neck. He felt his release overtake him down to his toes as his seed spilled out onto her skin.

After a moment of heavy breathing, Rick lifted his head again and watched the sunlight dance across her beautiful face. He tried to commit this exact look to memory, as a talisman to take with him when they embarked on what they both knew would be a mentally, emotionally, and physically stressful journey. Michonne did the same, mesmerized by the fearless love in his crystal blue eyes. Rick cleaned his seed from her skin with his underwear that he'd fished from buried somewhere in the sheets, happy to go commando for the rest of the day. This had been worth it. She watched him, noticing that he was taking his time, dragging out the moment as he took care to thoroughly clean inside her belly button, examining her body reverently as he worked.

Finally, Rick gave a long, deep sigh and sat up. The day was waiting.

"Come on. Breakfast." Michonne sat up too and gave him a juicy kiss on his scratchy chin. They both dragged themselves out of bed, ready to see what culinary surprises Jesus had in store for them today.

And later, to head back home. Head out to put a plan into action for the annihilation of a group of bad, _bad_ people.

They couldn't take their eyes off of each other as they cleaned up and got dressed. He watched her take her pill and brush her teeth, an unignorable idea forming in his head. He admired her perfect body, watching her slip her comely breasts into her bra and shimmy her slender, curvy hips into her pants when she was done washing up. Her skin looked good enough to eat.

She stole lingering glances at him while he tugged his dick into a more comfortable position inside his jeans, then zipped up and buckled his belt. Jesus had given him a black t-shirt to replace the dirty white one (which was nowhere to be found - Michonne wouldn't be surprised if it was on a clothesline somewhere). Rick slipped it on, her necklace catching the light against his wrist as he pulled the shirt over his head. It made her heart flutter, seeing him wearing it.

She watched him reach for his wristwatch on the little vanity near the bed and put it on. Then he reached for his wedding ring. Something she'd seen him wearing every single day since the day they met. Rick paused, his fingertips brushing it, frowning thoughtfully.

Michonne was sitting on the bed, her breath stalled, her heart pounding. She was supposed to be lacing up her boots, but instead she watched his reflection in the vanity mirror as Rick picked up the wedding ring and rolled it around between his fingers, his brow furrowed deeply.

Finally, he turned around, his blue gaze meeting hers, the ring clasped in his palm. He had made up his mind. "Commere..."

His voice was deep yet soft. Michonne dropped her boot and rose to her feet, gliding over to him slowly. He immediately wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her body into his, exhaling and swaying with her in the middle of the large bedroom. At first he was quiet, like he was nervous, but then he held the ring up to her.

"Why don't you hang on to this for me?" Rick drawled softly. It was Michonne's turn to frown, gazing first at the wedding ring and then up into his impossibly beautiful eyes. "Just until I can replace it with somethin' new, _for good_. I know it's not much right now." He shifted on his feet, suddenly so nervous he had to look down at her elegant fingers. "But if you'll just give me the chance to make you happy, Michonne...I promise you I'll do whatever it takes. Or I'll die tryin'. Will you?"

He finally met her eyes again. She could see that he was dead serious. He'd been waiting for Michonne his whole life. He knew that now. Everything happened exactly the way it was supposed to. It had taken him a long time to give in to it; to allow himself to fall again. But fall, he did. Hard. He couldn't bring himself to let her go now, or lose her ever. It was only a promise at the moment, and all he had, but he planned to make it official as soon as humanly possible.

Blinking back tears, Michonne nodded slowly, unable to speak just yet. Rick smiled happily and hugged her tight in his one-armed embrace. "Yeah?" He whispered eagerly, kissing her tenderly, hypnotized by her full, soft lips.

"Yes." She sighed with genuine joy, laughing out loud when he scooped her up and twirled her around.

"Goddamn, _I love you_ , Michonne." He growled, overjoyed with what a relief it was to say aloud without fear, squeezing her tight as he set her on her feet. Then he took a deep breath and slipped the ring onto her thumb, the only place it would fit.

She didn't care. She would accept his promise. She knew he would keep it. That was more than enough for her. _He_ was more than enough for her. He was everything. "The feeling is mutual, Grimes," she whispered.

"When this is over…" Rick breathed hard through his nostrils, leaning his strong, warm body into her slender curves, brushing his lips against her neck. He didn't need to finish. She could feel what he meant wafting off of him like electric currents the size of ocean waves.

When they came out on the other side of this, if they were successful, the beauty and her bad boy would enclose themselves inside some honeymoon cocoon somewhere. They were going to fuck, long and hard and with utter abandon. For as long as they both could physically stand it. The very thought of it kept them glued to each other for a lingering moment in the peaceful early morning silence, their foreheads pressed together, his arm tight around her waist and his other hand pressing hers to his chest so she could feel his beating heart.

They loved each other with a burning passion. Anyone gettin' in the way of that was gonna lose.

* * *

Murdock found himself on his stomach, all the wind rushed out of his chest as Jesus's knee landed squarely in the middle of his back. "Okay, that was too easy."

If his leg worked, he'd make the kid pay for that. As it happened, he was spent. Frustrated. Distracted. Not really in the mood.

Jesus could tell all that already. He was just disappointed. And worried. He sighed and helped Murdock turn around, then offered a hand to help him get to his feet. They were on the enclosed back deck that they'd converted into a training studio. From here, they had a view of the walls surrounding their land in the distance. Murdock had always found this view peaceful, somehow. Today, though, it didn't seem to be working. He wiped sweat from his brow and avoided Jesus' eyes as they got back into base stance to start over and try again.

Jesus could see that Murdock's leg was bothering him, but the point of this was to help him fight through that, overcome it, and steadily regain his old self. "Ready?" He asked his partner softly.

Murdock finally calmed and stilled. Ignoring the pain in his leg, he steadily met the gaze of his young lover across from him. He nodded.

They started again. Jesus was quick, his instincts sharp. He blocked Murdock's advances with ease as they danced across the room. Murdock stumbled a few times, but he was still strong. Jesus overcame him too quickly, though, throwing him off guard with an unexpected hip roll into a scissor sweep. Murdock found himself on the floor again, somehow caught up in a scarf hold.

"You're not even trying, 'Doc…" Jesus muttered, frowning. His exasperation was dosed with melancholy as he got to his feet and offered his hand yet again.

Murdock ignored it, getting up on his own. "Actually, I think I've tried enough for today."

They stared each other down, breathing deeply, their sweat glistening in the pale pink light of dawn.

Murdock was irritated with himself for not being able to keep up with someone who used to be a pupil. He was sad, and he was tired. Jesus was frustrated that he could do nothing to change this for his mentor. He had hoped that bringing Michonne would help wake Murdock from his depression, or at the very least, the promise of an end to Negan's terrorism would invigorate him.

All it seemed to do was make him feel useless. They hadn't discussed it, but Jesus would have to go back with Rick and their group. He would have to fight alongside them. There was no way Murdock could join him. He couldn't leave their people, and he couldn't be a burden to anyone.

This knowledge passed silently between them as Murdock leaned against the wall and Jesus stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

"What can I do?" he asked, hoping Murdock wouldn't blow him off again.

Murdock sighed, his frustration dissipating as he looked at the beautiful young man standing before him. He shook his head. "You've _done_ everything already. You've done more than I deserve."

"Stop that, would you?" Jesus muttered, walking toward him and leaning against him, tilting his face upward. "Tell me. What is it?"

Murdock gazed at his lips, reaching up to rest his hands against Jesus' arms. "You can give me more time. Let me figure out how to be useful." He kissed those lips, feeling a surge of love and fear grip him. "You can _stay alive_ …you hear me? _Stay alive_ , Paul. And Michonne with you. Protect each other. God, I don't know what I would do if I lost either of you."

Hearing this made Jesus desperate to feel Murdock's lips against his again, so he rose higher on his feet and kissed him passionately. It hurt Murdock to his core, not being physically as powerful as he was used to, not being able to fight at Jesus and Michonne's side. He had to hope, though, that all this anguish and uselessness could still count for something. He had to find a way to turn it into action. He intended to devote his time while Jesus was gone to doing just that.

There was no way he was going to send his friends, loved ones, and new allies into a gruesome war without being able to back them up should they need him. Alexandria's weapons were a start, but there was more to be done for this alliance to hold equal weight on both sides. Hilltop needed to be trained. Murdock needed to get better. He kissed Jesus with renewed energy, devouring his mouth when he felt the younger man begin to physically respond to his advances.

"If only - you had - this much - enthusiasm - while we're - _mm_ , sparring." Jesus said between intense kisses, smiling against the big man's lips.

"You asked me what I needed, didn't you?" Murdock growled as their tongues danced, bucking his hips into the young man's slender frame.

"A few more rounds, and I'm all yours…" Jesus remained cool as a cucumber, wrestling down a desperate longing to succumb to Murdock's persistent arousal. "But first you need to focus. You need to _try_."

Smirking, Murdock sighed and backed off. Jesus was right, of course. Like always.

The got back into base stance. Jesus nodded. Murdock returned the gesture. They sparred, dancing around the room, catching each other and pushing each other. Murdock struggled, but he didn't give up. It made Jesus very happy to see even just a shadow of his old, shrewd, confident self emerge again. Sparring with Murdock this way had given rise to their intense physical attraction to each other early on in their friendship. When they moved together like this - attempting to best each other in a challenge of physical prowess - it was like being in the middle of an electric storm. It always made Jesus horny.

Murdock was big, and he was powerful, but he was also graceful, brutal, and precise. Like a big cat. And Jesus was more like a snake - slippery, cunning, elegant and fast.

Finally, Murdock won out, landing Jesus on his back just as the morning sun was starting to glare into the enclosure.

"I hate that I love you so fucking much…" Jesus confessed breathlessly, pinned, gazing up into Murdock's dark eyes.

"You got my heart on a string, kid." The old man whispered back, his eyes filled with tenderness, acceptance, and kindness. "I love you, too. Always will."

That was his final word on the matter. He didn't even bother helping Jesus to his feet. They started to pull each other's clothes off while they lay there.

* * *

"On a scale of one to 'fuck you', how hungover you s'pose we are?" Abraham groaned, sitting across from Daryl at the big wooden table in the even bigger kitchen. They were the first ones up for some stupid ass reason, and Abe bet they'd be the worst ones off for the rest of the day.

Daryl barely moved his head to look up at Abe. He simply grunted: "Fuck you. I dunno what the hell I was thinkin' stayin' up with your goofy ass."

Abe chuckled, felt it in his head jiggling his brains around, and winced. "Shit. Ninety-year-old single malt can go right to Republican hell."

"I may have forgotten to mention: scotch that old has a bit of an aftertaste." Jesus's smooth voice sounded from the doorway.

"That's the understatement of the fuckin' year," Daryl grumbled. Jesus only smiled as he entered carrying supplies for breakfast that he'd gotten from the community pantry. "How about we trade some o'those jokes for some Aspirin?"

"Aspirin we have - and I'll do you one better." Jesus said, opening a cabinet to grab a dusty bottle of Ibuprofen and toss it to Abraham. Then he lifted the box of instant coffee he'd brought. "I can make this stuff taste like Starbucks."

"Less talkin', chief." Abe groaned, downing four of the little pills like tic tacs. "More brewin'. I don't care what it tastes like, so long as it puts out this hellfire in my head."

Amused and somewhat empathetic, Jesus gave him a salute and set about making breakfast. At first Abe and Daryl just sat there, drinking the black instant coffee he'd provided them (which he did somehow manage to make taste a lot less like shit in a cup). Soon, though, they got curious, and both found themselves watching him work, their noses picking up smells they hadn't smelled in a long while.

He was making more rolls, but he was also making pancakes. And grits. Real eggs. Beef sausages. And he had several jars of apple preserves for homemade syrup.

Daryl remembered Eugene babbling about sorghum before he and Aaron left on their run. He said it was a criminally underrated grain. Versatile. Resilient. Said it could change their food situation from 'scary to honkey donkey.' Dude was like some kinda idiot savant. But, judging from the way they were eating on the Hilltop, he was also abso-fuckin-lutely right.

By the time the eggs got sizzling in a big cast iron skillet, Glenn, Maggie, Rick and Michonne had wandered in. Daryl wouldn't be surprised if they were drawn by the smell. The shit smelled _delicious_ , and it was making him hungry as hell.

No one in the kitchen missed the way Rick and Michonne entered. They were holding hands, which they'd seen before - but this morning there was something extremely relaxed about them both. They were both smiling like idiots for one, Daryl observed, but there was something else. They looked like they'd both found some kind of peace that hadn't been there last night. It wasn't just from gettin' busy, either. Daryl had never seen that look in Rick's eyes before. It made him feel extreme relief, to see his friend and brother so...happy. But it also filled him with longing. Not for the first time (or the last) since they'd left Alexandria, he thought of Carol.

"Can I help?" Maggie offered, breaking up Daryl's thoughts.

Jesus smiled at her while he stirred the grits. "Sure, grab those preserves, I'll show you my syrup recipe."

"You're too much." Michonne said coolly to Jesus, shaking her head at the elaborate breakfast spread, her smile bright and wide.

"You say that now." Jesus smirked. "But wait until you taste my pancakes. You won't find better in these parts."

"Wanna bet?" Rick drawled, to everyone's surprise. Glenn paused pouring his coffee, perplexed by the statement, as Jesus slowed his stirring. Maggie, who was in the middle of smelling the apple preserves indulgently, raised a curious eyebrow at her leader and mentor. Rick shrugged, his eyes dancing, his expression caught between smug and amused. "I'm just sayin', you might not hold the trophy for pancake recipes."

"Have you ever cooked with sorghum before?" Jesus asked skeptically.

Michonne couldn't hide her amusement as Rick kissed her on the cheek and cracked his knuckles confidently. "No. But I'm a quick study."

"You're on." Jesus gave in, smiling. "Mixing bowl's in the cabinet under the sink." They all watched as Rick sauntered toward the sink and got to work helping Jesus make pancakes for everyone. Michonne watched him too, accepting a cup of coffee from Glenn and taking her place at the table.

She smiled behind her cup, watching Rick move easily and comfortably around the kitchen. He had asked her to marry him. And she had said yes, without so much as a second of contemplation. And now she was watching as he happily made pancakes with Jesus. She couldn't get over it. It all started just three nights ago, when she had dared to confess what she wanted from him. And then it snowballed, and now they were here. It felt so fast, but also exactly right. This had been a long time coming. She couldn't recall ever loving anyone as much as she loved Rick. Not Mike. Maybe not even Murdock. Or wanting a life with someone so badly. Knowing that he wanted the same kind of life with _her_ \- and that he would fight for them to have it - made her feel like they were invincible.

Everyone at the table avoided eye contact while she got lost in her thoughts, instead choosing to watch the episode of apocalyptic Iron Chef playing out before them.

Maggie, Rick, and Jesus were like a well-oiled machine in the kitchen. They all fell into a natural rhythm, aiding each other while taking their own individual moments to shine. Rick and Michonne's attitudes were contagious. The atmosphere in the kitchen was peaceful, even silly at times. Jesus bantered with a recovering Abraham while he scrambled eggs and fried the sausages in the skillet like a pro. Rick winked at Michonne and flipped his pancakes to applause from the table when they landed perfectly. Maggie's syrup needed no instruction from Jesus - she had it smelling divinely within minutes, taking a page from her own grandmother's book. She gave Glenn the privilege of tasting it first, and his eyes rolled back into his head. "Damn, that's good." He had forgotten food like this existed.

"Get used to this, mister. It's what we're fightin' for." His wife said to him sweetly, kissing the taste of the syrup from his lips.

They were all a sight to see, but Michonne only had eyes for Rick. They caught each other's gazes several times while he showed off his pancake flipping skills (skills she was definitely going to insist he practice regularly when they got back home). Their early morning in the canopy bed was present in their energy, as was his proposal. They had decided to keep things to themselves for now. They were in no rush to let the rest of the world in on everything that transpired between them. For now, their secret engagement was more like a silent bond; something impenetrable that only they were privy to. His wedding ring remained around her thumb, and her necklace was still there around his wrist. This _was_ what they were fighting for. All of this, and more. Together. For as long as they both lived. It was such a peaceful feeling, neither of them could help suppressing smiles across the kitchen space, in full view of everyone.

Jesus caught her gaze, and his knowing smile made her cheeks feel warm. She was giving herself away. She decided to distract him.

"Where's Murdock?" Michonne asked, pulling herself out of her fixation on her old man, now feeling the absence of her old friend.

Jesus began setting the table. "He's supposed to be meditating, but Lizzie's likely giving him the third degree. He'd probably appreciate the interruption..."

Michonne frowned when he left it at that. He knew she wanted to see her old friend alone. They hadn't had that opportunity yet. They needed it. She wanted to tell Murdock so much, and ask him so much. And she wanted to make sure what he had with Jesus was exactly what they both deserved. She found her immense happiness with Rick made her feel that everyone deserved to have what she had. If they wanted it.

She rose from the table and approached Rick, who was snuffing the fire out in the old iron stove. He looked up at her and stood upright, grinning that sexy grin of his as he wiped his hands on a towel. He tossed the towel aside and reached for her. "You ready to eat? Best pancakes you ever tasted."

Michonne allowed him to hold her in a loose, one-armed embrace in front of everyone. For them, this part of the kitchen had become a quiet little bubble that blocked out the activity around them, the second he pulled her closer to him. This was his favorite position, he decided.

She gazed into his eyes and shook her head. That obelisk-shaped crease appeared again between his brows as he frowned. "Save me some, okay? I need to talk to Murdock alone."

Rick resisted an instant pang of disappointment that they wouldn't get to enjoy breakfast together. He nodded solemnly. She needed to talk to her friend. She had every right to do it alone. There was no reason for him to take issue with that. Not after monopolizing most of her time since they'd arrived here; not after making a clear, pointed show of letting everyone here know they were together. "Alright. Don't stay away too long," he couldn't help uttering softly, squeezing her to him possessively.

"Whatever you say…" she stopped short of openly flirting with him in front of everyone, biting her lip. Rick's slow grin told her he knew what she was about to say, and it turned him on. Officer. Cowboy. Stud. Grimes. Baby. She could call him anything she wanted to; she had his damned heart in her pocket. He released her and she leaned over to smell the delicious aroma wafting up to her from the huge stack of fresh sorghum pancakes. They looked fluffy, cinnamon brown, crispy and buttery around the edges. "Where'd you learn to make pancakes this handsome?"

"I used to make 'em every Sunday for Carl and Lori back home." He said wistfully. Feeling empathy for him, Michonne reached up and massaged the curls at the nape of his neck, kissing him on the cheek.

"I love the shit clingin' to your boots, Michonne - but you're holdin' up the chow line, darlin'." Abe complained from the table, and they both turned to discover that the entire kitchen was watching them. The table was set - all that was missing was Rick's pancakes.

Michonne laughed and raised her hands in mock surrender. She plucked a sausage from a steaming plate on the table and glided out of the kitchen, her sword hanging across her back. They all watched her go, Rick especially, before he brought the pancakes to the table and declared that it was chow time.

* * *

"So are we going to address the elephant in the room, or what?"

Murdock chuckled, opening his eyes to gaze across at Lizzie with exasperated amusement. She sometimes sat and meditated with him, but it was always just an excuse to talk. She knew he did this for a very good reason, but they were friends, and when she was bursting, she couldn't help herself.

He hadn't been able to concentrate before she came looking for him anyway. His mind was on Jesus, and Michonne, and Rick, and the incredibly complicated, dangerous fight ahead.

So was Elizabeth's. She had a million questions. Last night, she'd been knackered, and traumatized, and relieved to finally be home. Meeting Rick Grimes and his group had given her hope, and the girl Maggie was a sweet one. Then there was Abraham, who was, simply put, _quite_ a character.

But in the light of day, now that she'd slept and was back in her element again, Elizabeth had questions. Mr. Grimes had said that they would _kill all of the Saviors_. He looked as though he was a man of his word. And Murdock had said that his partner, Michonne, was someone from his past. Well the good doctor could only put two and two together at this point. Jesus had always said there was someone Murdock had once loved very much; had spent his adult life pining after. And her first instinct told her that person was the lovely creature draped in green, standing close to the blue-eyed cowboy with the big gun.

All this was flashing through her head of wild red curls as she tried to be quiet and meditate.

"Which elephant?" Murdock asked, giving up the ghost. He relaxed in his chair across from where she sat on the settee in his study.

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him and uncrossed her legs, sitting forward to rest her elbows against her knees. "Alright. Let's start with you declaring bloody _war_ on Negan. _Without_ a plan, mind."

"We have a plan, Lizzie."

"Bollocks. 'We'll kill them all'? Is that it? There are women, _children_ perhaps. Are they included in this master plan?"

Murdock sighed hard and shook his head. "Rick wouldn't slaughter innocents."

"You're sure about that, are you? How long have you known him? Twelve hours?"

"Because first of all, I wouldn't allow it. Secondly, I'm sure of it because I know _Michonne_." Murdock replied patiently, seemingly unfazed by her suspicion. She was a partial leader here - her skills were among the most valuable of the community. She had a right to question Murdock and Jesus' decisions. But she was wrong, and she would see that soon enough. In that, at least, he was confident. "She isn't that kind of person. She could never be with someone who was. She's _good_ , and more importantly, she's part of the glue that holds him together. He's a family man. He's a protector, not a terrorist like Negan. You want more proof?" It was his turn to lean forward, meeting her gaze steadily. "You met Maggie. Glenn."

Elizabeth scoffed, remembering her little chat with the big, crass, handsome ginger. "Abraham."

Murdock smiled. "Yes. Him and Daryl, too. They're _good people_. Rick surrounds himself with people willing to go to the ends of the earth with him, for _family_. For peace. For an end to constant fear. _None_ of the reasons Negan does _anything_ , including breathe."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, her pale blue eyes glinting. "And you know this because Michonne chose him." Interesting. "Who is she? She's more than an old friend. I could smell that from a mile away."

It was Murdock's turn to roll his eyes. They remained leaning toward each other, as if they were playing chess. He rested his chin atop his hands holding his cane. She rested hers against her folded hands. "Anybody ever accuse you of being nosey?" He joked.

"Everyone, darling. I couldn't even keep my gob shut while I was operating. Developed quite a reputation during my residency. Chatting keeps me focused. Answer the question."

"She _is_ more than an old friend." He admitted, chuckling softly. "There was a time when I thought she was the love of my life. The one that got away. Hadn't seen her in almost a decade before it all ended."

Elizabeth frowned, feeling sympathy for him. And for Jesus. She could only imagine the complicated emotions running amok in this house with the arrival of the group from Alexandria. "How did you find her?"

"Jesus did. When he lost you, he found them. Your sacrifice…" he leaned forward and took her hand, squeezing it affectionately; gratefully. "Dana's. Ben's. Tony's. It may have led to our salvation. What you went through, without Jesus, may have been the last time Negan's people have that kind of power over us. Jesus found my Michonne. And she came bearing gifts."

Elizabeth had always admired his eloquence. She placed her free hand over his. She loved and trusted her friend. She would follow him to the ends of the earth in the same pursuit he ascribed to Rick and Michonne's people. "You'd better be right."

"I'm hopeful." He offered. "That's what this is about, Lizzie. _We have hope_ \- finally. I'm willing to bet on it. On Rick. On Michonne."

They stared at each other for a long time, silently coming to terms with their situation. She would go along. Of course she would. She loved her people - what they'd built, and what they _could_ build once they were free - too much. She had little choice. Hope was all they had. Rick's people gave them that. They would just have to fight like hell to make sure it paid off.

"But, what's your _plan_?" She pressed, still concerned about what they were all up against. Wishing to be useful, somehow. "Who's left here who even knows how to use those weapons we've traded half our supplies for? We'll be down Jesus, and now Ben and Dana - who _should be recovering_ right now."

"We're trading for more than weapons," he replied simply. He'd thought this through. "We have Maggie. And I've told Jesus to find someone else who can help among Rick's people."

Elizabeth frowned, befuddled. "For help with _what_? Maggie is pregnant, what can she do?"

"She can teach these people how to _fight_. Here, in secret. How to shoot. How to kill walkers. How to kill other live humans. How to survive. In return, she wants to know how we grow, and I think the terms are worth it. This is an _alliance_ , Lizzie. Not just a simple trade."

"Murdock…" His friend shook her head slowly, overwhelmed. They really were going into war. It would get bloody, and they were going to lose people. They didn't have time to stop and wonder if the sacrifice really _was_ worth it. Their situation was dire, and this was their only option. "This is going to _fucking suck_."

But they were all in it together. The doctor squeezed Murdock's hand and gave it a light kiss before releasing him.

There was a soft knock on the door. He called for the person to come in, and they looked to see Michonne standing in the doorway. Lizzie was taken aback - Michonne was quite fetching. And she carried a sword strapped across her back. "You busy?" Her soft voice wafted into the room.

Lizzie saw that as her cue. She smiled warmly at Michonne, getting to her feet. "He's free as a bird, love. Come on in. I was just leaving."

Michonne gave her a polite smile as they passed each other across the threshold. Elizabeth couldn't help pausing, gazing into Michonne's eyes in all earnesty. "It's good to have you here. Please, let me know whatever I can do to help."

Michonne was taken slightly aback, but she nodded. "Thanks. Maybe talk to Rick? We need all the information we can get about Negan's compound."

Elizabeth accepted her suggestion and made herself scarce.

Michonne closed the door behind her and walked into the room, watching as Murdock rose to his feet and stepped forward to greet her. There was a moment where their eyes met and all of a sudden they were their old selves again. Goofy Murdock and nerdy 'Chonne. A great swell of nostalgia, and with it a crashing wave of emotion, propelled them both toward each other. He welcomed her into his arms and gave her a warm, tight squeeze. She closed her eyes to savor the feeling, remembering years and years of hugs like this, standing on her tiptoes, all swept up in him. She took a deep breath and let it out, relaxing in his arms.

His presence was always soothing. Easy. She hadn't realized how much she missed it, and she was incredibly relieved to have it back. Murdock kissed her on the cheek and let her go, gesturing for her to have a seat.

Michonne wiped her face and sat down in Dr. Corday's place on the settee. Murdock sat back down in his chair, smiling softly as he rested his cane against its arm. "Good morning, Miss 'Chonne." He said sweetly, making her laugh quietly, making her remember how he used to greet her every morning at high school. He was always waiting by her locker. He always had something for her. An apple. A chocolate bar. Some gum or a wild flower he'd picked. He was a romantic guy, despite her teasing at dinner. She was always hungry, and sometimes he complained, but he always ended up giving in. He could never resist Michonne.

"Morning, fool." She retorted, like she used to. They smiled for a while, letting memories run away with them. And then Michonne sighed, her smile fading as she gazed at her friend; how changed he really was. "How are you?" She asked seriously.

Murdock looked very sad for a moment, but then he chuckled. "I'm shocked. Look at you! Alive! I'm happy as hell, Michonne. It's good to see you."

She returned his smile. "I'm happy, too. When Jesus said your name, somehow...I knew." She confessed, shaking her head in wonder. "I just _knew_ it was you. And I knew I had to get here."

He was moved, hearing her confide this. He swallowed hard and nodded empathetically. "Thank god you came. We needed you. And Rick." Michonne watched his smile turn slightly expectant, and she knew where he was going next. "Rick is...an interesting guy."

She fought off the urge to roll her eyes. She took a deep breath and sat up straighter. "Yeah. Rick's interesting, alright." She blinked, and let it out. "I'm in love with him. I'd die for him. He _saved me_ , Murdock."

He heard the truth in her voice. He knew what that was like, to be on the receiving end of Michonne's love. He also knew what it was like to be in love with her. He envied Rick, and he was happy for her. "I know…" he reassured her, hoping _she_ could see the truth in his eyes. She could. "And I can see he feels ten times more. 'Chonne, that man lives and breathes you. You know that?"

Yes, she knew, she realized. And apparently, so did everyone else. She smiled, laughing at herself. "Are we that obnoxious?"

Murdock laughed out loud, shaking his head at her as she put her face in her hands. She couldn't help thinking of how hard it was for her to focus on anything but Rick these last few days. She had known they would have a hard time being discreet about how much they loved each other. Their physical chemistry had always been there, just under the surface. But now it was free, and it was overflowing. They couldn't block the flood; and even if they could, neither of them wanted to. Murdock understood that. He envied that. "You're fascinating. Intimidating. I would consider it an asset, if I were you."

She blinked rapidly, considering that for the first time. That feeling of elevated confidence in her ability to survive above all odds when she and Rick were in sync doubled as she contemplated Murdock's words. "We hated each other when we first met." She admitted, still smiling. Remembering.

Murdock returned her wistful smile. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Rick doesn't trust easily. Neither do I."

"But you ended up relying on each other. You ended up balancing each other out."

Michonne focused on him again and nodded. "Yeah. I'm guessing that's what happened with you and Jesus?"

Murdock felt a wave of peace wash over him as he saw the truth reflected in her expression. Jesus hadn't been exaggerating when he confessed that he found an unexpectedly deep connection with Michonne. He had wondered how he was going to broach this subject with his old friend. If she would understand how profound and unquestionable his love was for Jesus. At first, it had been inexplicable - now it was simply intuitive. It seemed Jesus had already done him the favor. "Yes. He and I are partners in everything. It just sort of happened. He's the reason I'm sitting here today, not dead or off running scared in the wild."

"Does _he_ know that?" She pressed, only feeling slightly bad for getting in his business. They had known each other too long and this world had too little regard for indecision.

Murdock frowned. "He should. Why?"

Michonne sighed and relaxed in her seat on the settee. "I know he loves you, Murdock. And if you love him, you'll just let go. I did, and it was the best thing I could've done. It's..freeing."

She had always been able to peg what he needed to hear; to say exactly what was bothering him, and encourage him to make the decision he knew he'd been avoiding. Yes, his relationship - his love affair - with Jesus was nothing like anything Murdock had ever experienced. That was something he could accept, but it was also something that caused him unrest. Had this been the person he was all along? Or had these dark times transformed him into the complete antithesis of his former self? If so, had he been a selfish person before? Harboring feelings for Michonne and using them to keep others at bay. Naomi never stood a chance with him. No woman did after Michonne. He kept asking himself: Was that really because of Michonne? He also couldn't help asking: Did it matter? Now that she was sitting here, he couldn't help feeling contrite. He cared for her dearly. But perhaps he'd done them both a disservice all these years, weighing their friendship down with sour feelings that may not even have been about her.

"What do you suppose I should do?" He asked aloud now, earnestly needing his old friend's advice. Like old times. They supported each other as much as they drove each other crazy.

Michonne smiled again. "Be yourself. Let go of your fear. You're together for a _reason_. Embrace it. Use it."

He nodded in agreement. He could see that approach was definitely working out for her. "I told him to watch out for you out there." When she rolled her eyes stubbornly, he chuckled. "I know you can take care of yourself, 'Chonne. And I damn sure know Rick isn't going to let anything happen to you on his watch. But you need Jesus. He's the best asset Hilltop has. He'll more than hold up our end of this alliance. And I love you. Both of you. So _watch out for each other_. Please."

Michonne softened and nodded finally, giving him her silent promise that they would.

He stood up slowly, leaning heavily on his cane as he started to make his way toward his desk, and the balcony beyond it. He gestured to the scene below, visible through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the balcony as Michonne stood and followed him.

He opened the door to the balcony and stepped out, Michonne coming out after him. He gazed down at the hilltop town; the rows and rows of FEMA trailers, the stables, the sorghum and vegetable fields, the walls beyond. The view he saw every day, sometimes all day.

Michonne stood next to him, gazing down at what he and Jesus had built, appreciating the pride and sacrifice that came with such an achievement. She saw their camper being backed up the hill, Abraham behind the wheel and Daryl guiding it as he walked alongside it. Rick, Jesus, Ben, Tony, and Dana were carrying crates and boxes full of food and supplies down the hill toward the RV. The community was beginning to wake up. Some of them were standing around outside their trailers to watch what was going on. Michonne realized they'd be leaving soon. She and Murdock hadn't spent nearly enough time together. And now it was time to start preparing for the fight.

She turned to look over at him. He was at first watching her group below, but then he turned slightly to face her, leaning against the railing. A slight breeze cooled their skin under the now brightly shining sun as Murdock reached into his jacket pocket and retrieved his old wallet.

His kind eyes held her in place as they faced each other, high above the hilltop town, and he told her a story.

"I kept this wallet because it contains the last pieces of my old life that I have left in this world." He said quietly. "It got me through some of the loneliest and most gruesome times I've ever faced. For a long time, even when I went crazy for a little while," Murdock frowned hard turning the wallet over and over again in his hands. " _You_ were my anchor, Michonne. My only link to some kind of peace of mind. Until I met Jesus."

She swallowed hard as he opened the wallet and removed two pictures from the tattered leather wallet. She remembered when he bought it at Macy's when they took a trip to New York one summer. That was right before he took off to Italy and began a decade-long excursion. Running away from her. Michonne focused on the pictures.

The first one, of herself and Murdock at their senior prom, made her smile warmly. Her heart swelled and a wave of nostalgia washed over her. She stared at it for a long time, remembering. They danced all night long, until they turned on the flood lights and forced the last loiterers in the gym to leave. Then they'd gone to get ice cream at a roadside parlor that stayed open all night in the warmer months of the year. That had been such a fun night.

The past was all around them, coating the air they breathed. She stared at the perfectly preserved image of their old selves. Two smart, goofy kids watching each other's backs in the hood, growing into two fiercely passionate young adults and ambitious lovers, and then...strangers on opposite sides of the earth. Trying to hold on to a bond that was thinning with each year that passed.

"God, we were so young…" she muttered, still regretting the way things ended, even after all these years.

Finally, she looked at the second picture. She lost her smile immediately, feeling her legs go numb all of a sudden. The silence around them as Murdock took a step toward her was only disturbed by the faint sounds of the community below. Michonne leaned heavily against the railing now, staring down at the picture, her hands shaking.

She was looking at her little boy, alive and smiling happily up at her old self. They were standing there with Mike, but the two of them were in their own little world. He was such an enchanting little boy. Her peanut, her little love, her light, her joy. She felt as though the world was going to crash in on itself, right on top of her, burying her in the rubble.

Murdock held his ground, trying to give her her time, her space. But he felt it, too. Finally Michonne looked up at her old friend, the loss of her son weighing her down with each breath. He stepped toward her, opening his arms, and caught her as she fell into him, her body trembling with silent sobs.

Memories of her beautiful baby boy raced through her mind, attacking her heart with stabbing pain so intense that she had to crush her eyes shut and cling to Murdock for dear life. He held onto her, keeping her on her feet in his strong arms. He felt empathy for her so immense that it rendered him speechless. All he could do was hold her, and she cried and cried until she had nothing left.

A few minutes later, they were leaning side by side against the railing, Michonne having wiped her face and nose with his handkerchief. She felt better, but still sad. She hadn't allowed herself to feel Andre's loss so directly in a long, long time. But being here at Hilltop, being so swept up in Rick, and seeing Murdock again had helped her reach this place - she was sure of it. Now the picture, after what felt like _so long_ of only seeing her baby boy in her mind, had been the final push she needed to let it all go.

"I'm sorry." He said, sighing deeply. "I wanted you to have that. I shouldn't have sprung it on you like this, though." He looked down at her. "I'm so sorry about Andre. No one deserves to go through what you went through. I'm just glad you made it to the other side."

She felt another tear slip down her cheek as she looked up to return his gaze. "Thank you." She whispered, pressing the photograph to her stomach. "I never thought I'd see him again."

He reached over and squeezed her shoulder, understanding what it meant to her. "Can you live with this, 'Chonne? What we have to do now?"

She straightened her posture nodding slowly. "I know what we're doing. And I know _why_ we're doing it. I can handle it. Can _you_?"

It was his turn to fortify his body language, returning her resolute nod. "So long as we understand each other: I'm willing to do whatever it takes. But we can't kill innocents, Michonne. Rick knows that...right?"

Michonne frowned hard, at first taken aback by his words. Rick was a killer, but he wasn't a monster. Why was it so hard for people to understand that? "Rick knows that." She confirmed for her friend mater-of-factly, keeping her thoughts to herself.

"Good." He gave her another affectionate squeeze and stood upright, turning to face the sunlight once again. Michonne did the same, her eyes following where he gestured with his chin to the scene below. "Jesus told me there was nothing that man wouldn't do for you."

Michonne looked down to see Rick had paused helping to load the R.V. with supplies to gaze up at them in the balcony. She could feel his eyes on her, and she knew he could feel her eyes on him. Their connection - she could feel it even across this distance. It was strong; it was undeniable. Whether someone else would call what she was feeling love, she didn't care. Death and danger be damned.

"I hope he's right. _You're_ the one who's going to help us win this, Michonne. This is what you were _meant for_ \- remember all those years of you searching for a purpose? Never feeling like you could make a big enough difference?"

Michonne forced her eyes away from Rick and turned to face her friend again. She had thought Andre was it, and she used to be ashamed to admit that having him still hadn't managed to snuff out the fire of her yearning to make a difference in the world. He was her son, and she could teach him what she believed in, pass on her mission...but that didn't fulfil her mission. And now, her precious was gone. Her mission - what was it now? Now that she was with Rick, what could they _build_ , together?

"Yeah. I remember." She admitted, clutching the photograph of her and what used to be her family in her hand.

"When this is over, there will be four territories, four communities, left to rebuild in the ruins." Murdock told her calmly, his dark skin glowing in the sunlight. He stood resting on his cane, leveling with her. "There _will_ be survivors, Michonne. You know that. We can kill those who fight in Negan's name, but not their prisoners, not their innocents. There will be a new world to lead, a new law of the land to obey. _We'll_ be the ones writing that law." Murdock stepped toward her, towering over her, his energy wafting off of him. He was never more sure of himself than he was now. But it was a peaceful energy. Urgent, but quite earnest. She marveled at it. "What kind of world are we creating? One of prosperity, strength, and peace? Or fear, cowardice, and brutality?"

"What are you saying?' She challenged, resisting even though she knew he was right.

"I'm asking you to help me make sure we're not cutting off one of Negan's heads just to have another identical one spring up in its place."

"That isn't going to happen, 'Doc." Jesus' voice sounded from inside the study.

They both turned to see him standing in the doorway, the shade from inside making his eyes stand out like blue pools. He stepped over the threshold, into the light, his expression slightly concerned, but ultimately calm. He gazed up at his partner and gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"Rick is asking for you downstairs. We're almost ready."

Murdock understood that he should let the matter rest, for now. He sighed and backed off. "Of course. I'll see you down there, 'Chonne."

They watched as he made his way into the house, giving Jesus an affectionate squeeze on the arm as he went. Jesus sighed and returned his gaze to Michonne. "Sorry. He's worried. And he feels...stuck. He'd rather be fighting with you, trust me."

Michonne accepted the explanation, though it still stirred something inside her that had been nagging her ever since Carol started harping on Rick. Jesus stepped toward her and offered her a somber smile.

"Would you mind helping me with something before we leave?"

She blinked at him, intrigued - as always with him. He led her off the balcony, into the house again. Michonne tucked her photograph in the small satchel attached to her sword belt and followed him out of the study. He peered over the railing to survey the foyer, making sure Murdock had made it outside as they bypassed the stairs and walked down the hall toward one of the bedrooms. They crossed into it, and Michonne could immediately tell that it belonged to Murdock and Jesus.

Their belongings were mingled perfectly. The atmosphere was masculine, and harmonious. Worn, and frayed around the edges. Cozy, and safe.

The bed was still a mess, there were stacks of books everywhere, reading glasses perched atop every single one of them. Murdock's ties and Jesus' scarves spilled out of one drawer. Murdock's jackets and Jesus' vests were draped across the back of a rather large, ancient-looking brown leather armchair. Artifacts from their scavenging were positioned about the room: the grill of what looked like a vintage truck at the foot of the bed, paintings propped against the wall rather than hanging, a stack of chess sets and an old, rusty street sign labeled 'MERCY ST' sitting on top of the dresser. Jesus saw her looking at it, and his smile turned wistful.

"We met on that street. Almost killed each other. I got out of it by making a joke about the name of the street, and suggesting we both try it, maybe." He chuckled. "He fell for it, of course, big softy. I knocked him out and took his gun. He found me again, though, days later. He'd survived...and he had that street sign. He had the chance to kill me then, but he didn't. We've been inseparable ever since." His eyes drifted to her face again. "Come." He urged gently.

Michonne followed him into the bathroom, where she was inundated with yet more signs of the life Jesus and Murdock led here together. But she focused on her new friend, curious about what he needed from her as he opened a cabinet and removed a pair of scissors and some electric clippers. He kicked the cabinet shut and took off his hat, his dirty blonde hair falling in his face.

It dawned her as she stared at the scissors and clippers on the counter and the hat in his hands, gazing at her determinedly. "Are you serious…?" She could only gasp, raising her eyebrows at him in shock and intrigue.

He only nodded slowly. "As a heart attack. Will you help me?"

Michonne took a deep breath, taking the clippers from the counter as he turned to plug them in. They roared to life, the unmistakable _buuuzzz_ sound permeating the quiet space. He took a deep breath, dropping the hat to the floor as Michonne began to rid him of his beard.


	13. first impressions

_war, children_

 _it's just a shot away_

 _it's just a shot away, yeah_

-The Rolling Stones, "Gimme Shelter"

* * *

 _A short while ago…_

Maybe it was Rick's general 'don't fuck with it' demeanor as he sat down and they dug in. Or the fact that they were all ravenous, the breakfast laid out before them resembling a feast fit for a king. And smelling like one, too.

Either way, there was no discussion of his recently very open showings of affection toward Michonne. For the next ten minutes, the group concentrated on little else besides devouring everything on their plates - and then some. There was a calm, content silence among the family as they settled in and took to savoring the sausage, eggs, rolls, grits, crispy yet fluffy pancakes, homemade apple syrup, and not too bad coffee. Rick had to remember to save some for Michonne, and he got her some eggs and pancakes out of reach before Daryl and Abe could get their hands on them.

Then he leaned back and drank his coffee, missing Michonne and curious about what she and Murdock were discussing up there. He knew the other guy was probably going to take the opportunity to give her the picture. He wished he could be there to comfort her, but he knew it wasn't his moment to intrude on.

Ben appeared in the doorway, looking rested but still somber. Everyone stopped eating immediately, dropping their forks and knifes and giving him their full attention.

"We're in the barn, ready to load up when you guys are done." The young man said quietly, his tone very calm and detached.

Maggie winced and immediately rose to her feet, taking a step toward him. "Are you hungry? There's plenty left."

His eyes flickered at her curiously, almost in surprise, but he shook his head. "No, thanks. My appetite isn't what it used to be."

Maggie felt sad for him. She nodded and backed down, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"We'll see you out there, son." Rick spoke up, giving the kid a firm nod. Ben looked at him, returned his nod, and backed out of the kitchen. When he was gone, the group all turned to Jesus, who rose from the table with Maggie.

"Let's get you folks what you came for, shall we?"

They all rose from the table without another word, finishing the last bites of their meal. Rick drained his coffee cup and grabbed the wrapped food he'd saved for Michonne along with his corduroy traveling jacket.

He only glanced upstairs once as he followed the others through the foyer and out the front door. He could only see just past the railing and Murdock's closed study door. He told himself to concentrate on making this trade, knowing that Michonne would join him when she and Murdock were done parting ways.

Rick one-armed his jacket on and nodded silent instructions to Daryl and Abe, who were going down the hill to fetch the R.V. Ben led Jesus and Rick down toward the barn. Glenn and Maggie met Dr. Corday in the yard, where she'd been waiting, smoking a cigarette.

She shook her head at them as she stamped it out and waved the smoke away in the slight breeze. "I know, I'm horrid. But my nerves aren't what they used to be. Are you two ready to meet your child?"

Her gentle voice was coated in a bright accent as she smiled warmly at them. Maggie grasped Glenn's hand and he kissed her forehead. "Yes, ma'am…" she replied.

Abe and Elizabeth exchanged glances as they passed each other, the memory of their little chat this morning evident in their expressions. He gave her a salute and a shy grin. She rolled her eyes and saluted him back as she led the young couple to her trailer and he followed Daryl down the hill toward the gates.

As he followed his lanky, moody partner down the hill, Abraham's mind lingered on that little talk. It was after Daryl had given up on waiting around and shuffled off into the dark to brood.

He remembered sitting there, alone, drunk, not wishing to close his eyes and see his kids. And then seeing a head full of curly red hair making its way toward him.

* * *

 _Very, very early that morning…_

At first Abe thought he was hallucinating again. Thought he really _was_ seeing one of his kids.

But then he heard that pretty accent, and saw those big blue eyes, and he calmed down immediately. It was the good doctor.

"I'm desperately hoping you've not guzzled our entire supply..."

He chuckled, his eyes focusing on her as she sauntered into the dining room, looking exhausted but still twinkling in the eyes. Her hair was piled haphazardly atop her head, and she had stripped down to just a flimsy tank top and a pair of old, tight jeans. No bra. Her boobs were big, buoyant, and had absolutely no problems hanging out in that thin, sweaty white tank top that was tucked so tightly into those jeans.

She also wore a bandana around her neck, catching the sweat falling down her collarbones.

Abraham's dick got hard in seconds.

She sat down across from him, leaning forward and reaching for Glenn's old glass. She raised her eyebrows suggestively, ignoring the dopey look on his face. She didn't pretend to be ignorant of her affect on men. But it was hot as hell and she was done as fuck with giving a damn. She'd been through a tornado, and all she wanted was a good, stiff drink. She'd been under the impression everyone would be asleep, but _surprise, surprise_...

Abraham had fetched another precious bottle of scotch from Jesus' hiding place. He passed it silently along the table toward her, and she took it, nodding at him gratefully.

He watched her pour herself a generous helping and she passed it back to exactly the middle of the table. Lizzie raised her glass and he raised his. They both took large swigs and had almost identical reactions. Their faces contorted and they hissed as the smooth, but potent liquid worked its magic. When they'd made it through the hard part, they both savored the taste, appreciative silence befalling them once again. Abraham stole lingering glances at her as she twirled her glass around in her hands, drifting off into space. He found himself smiling a little, admiring her attractiveness. Until she spoke.

"Sometimes I wonder if we shouldn't just eliminate men from society altogether."

He lost his smile and his bushy eyebrows folded in on themselves. His hard on started to make its retreat as well as she smirked and finally met his gaze again.

"But then I realize, of course we can't do that. Murdock and Jesus, the men here, they keep me from having those sorts of thoughts. You know?"

"I gotta admit - I plum don't." He confessed, feeling guilty nonetheless.

She chuckled and leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of her scotch. "It's the raping and cruelty that's the problem, you see?" She explained, watching for his reaction.

Abraham sighed, his eyes falling to his glass. Of course. She had just been comforting a young woman who was raped by Negan's people. She was angry, and so was he. He wouldn't want some shit-for-brains asshole to lay hands on his daughter that way, and he sure as shit wasn't gonna stand for it happening to some other girl. Or any of his friends.

"What can I say, doc? Men are lower than dogshit."

She laughed out loud, sloshed her scotch, and wiped her mouth, still giggling. "What are you on about?"

He shrugged. "This is inside information, sweetheart. I'm a prime example." She raised an eyebrow, curious. "I got this...sweet little gal back home in Alexandria. She's good to me. There was a time, I thought she was good _for_ me, too."

Elizabeth listened as he went on, getting serious, witnessing the guilt and confusion clouding his inebriated expression.

"So what happened?" She egged him on gently, feeling the scotch relaxing her as well.

"There's someone else. Someone that makes me feel alive when most of the time I walk around thinkin' I oughtta be dead." He met her gaze again finally. "I want her so bad, but I'm a coward. I won't tell Rosita the truth. I won't commit to tryin' for a life with Sasha. Here I am gettin' a hard on for you, thinkin' of sabotaging myself yet again, because I'm an ass."

Elizabeth sat shocked by his unwavering honesty. She had no idea who Sasha and Rosita were, but she was certain neither of them deserved what they were getting. Or rather, what they weren't getting. The truth. Anything real. Anything one could hang hope on.

She decided not to ridicule or reprimand him - too much. "Well, I am flattered, truly." She couldn't suppress her sardonic grin as she continued. He caught it, and his mustache twitched with a sad smile of his own. "But it seems to me, no woman will ever be enough to stop you from wanting to die. Every moment you spend with them, tickling your knob, you're wasting their time and avoiding your own bullshit."

Abe lost his smile, frowning hard. He let her words wash over him, sobering him somewhat.

"Using them to feel alive is not only shitty, it's guaranteed to fail miserably. Every time. I've been there." She took another swallow of scotch. Hesitantly, deep in thought, he did the same. "My advice? Stick it back in your trousers and do them both a favor. Stop wasting their time until you've figured your shit out on your own. Then you make a _choice_ , like a real man."

"Damn…" he scratched his chin, kinda boggled if he were honest with himself. "How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes at him. "Easy. Figure out what you want. Above anything, above all. Do you want to live? Or do you want to die?"

After a long while of contemplation, Abraham finally had to call it like it was. He knew the implications of this, once spoken out loud, would be hard to defend to anyone who wouldn't understand. But he was drunk and the doc seemed pretty damned open minded, so he didn't worry about it now. He looked her square in the eyes and grinned. "I wanna _fuck shit up_ , doc. I wanna go out blowin' up the bad guys and avengin' injustice with an almighty roar. _That's_ what I want."

Elizabeth felt a tender tug of amusement in her heart and she laughed out loud again, raising her glass in toast. He obliged her and they air-clinked.

Slowly, the silence settled over them again. She gazed at him, curious as to what he'd endured that would drive him to desire chaos over love. But she didn't judge him. No one could, in this world. She swallowed the last of her scotch. "You'll receive your chance, mate..."

* * *

 _Closer to the present…_

Ben had led them to the barn, where Dana and Tony waited.

Stacked up in the middle of the vast space, there were dozens and dozens of crates and boxes. More than he could count from where he stood. They'd have to hitch up a trailer to carry it all, and it gave him a feeling of the utmost satisfaction.

Ben handed him a clipboard, and Jesus looked on as the young man led the Alexandrian leader around the giant pile of goods, reading off the list of food and supplies. There was everything he could think of. Coffee, eggs, pounds and pounds of sorghum flour and grains, toiletries, cured meat, tools they'd made, tomatoes, onions, peppers, green beans, spinach, herbs, tubs of butter, blankets, feminine products, and on and on. There were even a few chickens in a crate and several jars of preserves.

"We'll arrange transport of the livestock soon, when it's safe. For now, let's load you up." Jesus told him, reaching down to pick up a crate.

Rick handed Ben the clipboard and cracked his knuckles. "Alright. We've got weapons for you in the R.V."

Dana and Tony exchanged glances, hopeful expressions passing between them as everyone prepared to start hauling the supplies down the hill.

After a while of handing off boxes and crates, Rick started eyeing Ben and Dana (and even Tony) thoughtfully. He stepped down from the R.V., adjusting his gun belt on his waist, and approached the three of them, who were stacking boxes near the small trailer one of the Hilltop community members had provided. "Hey. You three. Got a minute?"

Ben, Dana, and Tony exchanged looks with Jesus, who simply nodded for them to stop what they were doing and gather around Rick as he approached with another crate. They obeyed, leaving their haul in the pile and meeting Rick near the large, rusty old camper. Jesus dumped his as well, closing up the circle.

Daryl and Abraham paused loading supplies in the camper to watch what was going on through the big windows.

Dana's icy blues met Rick's fiery ones head on. Ben frowned at him with that same level of detachment from the kitchen. Tony looked curious but hesitant. Jesus simply waited for him to speak.

Rick sighed and rested his hands on his belt, starting with Ben. He tilted his head at the stoic young man, feeling a strong wave of familiarity that he couldn't place wash over him when he looked into the kid's hardened brown eyes. "How many walkers have you killed?"

Ben swallowed thickly. Unsure exactly why. It seemed like a stupid question to him, but the look in the man's eyes told him it was very important that he answer truthfully. And yeah, he was nervous. This guy was intense. He seemed about as "no nonsense" as one could get. He wasn't as cold and crazy as Negan. He just...didn't look like someone you wanted to test.

So Ben answered the question seriously. "I'm not sure. I've lost count."

Rick nodded very slightly, his solemn blue eyes flickering up and down at him thoughtfully. "How many people have you killed, son?"

Dana glanced over at him, but he didn't turn from Rick's gaze. He felt the question pummel him in the ribs a little, but he stood his ground. He shook his head, gritting his teeth, thinking of his brother Joey, thinking of Dana. "Not nearly enough. Not the ones I _should_ have."

Dana flinched at the anger in his voice. Rick shifted on his feet, clenching his jaw at the kid's suddenly brash attitude. "How many?" He insisted.

Ben relented. "Just two."

Rick's gaze remained steady. "Why?"

"I didn't have a choice. It was them or me."

He accepted the explanation and nodded again, this time letting his empathy for Ben's situation show on his face. "Will you come with us? Tell us what you know? Help us hunt and kill the people responsible for this?"

Ben nodded without hesitation.

"Good," Rick drawled, gesturing behind him to the camper. "Go see Daryl, he's got weapons for you."

Then he moved on to Dana. He asked her the same questions, and she answered them all with the same calm, cool demeanor as she'd had last night. He was coming to understand how unflappable she was when she needed to be. She had killed five more people than Ben, and had more reason than any of them to be unglued, out of her mind, adrift with no hope of return. But she was determined, strong, and above all - observant. She would be an asset. Rick sent her to get her weapons. Tony seemed like an alright guy. He was a former boxer from the Bronx in New York. He'd killed three people - including one before the turn. He beat a man to death in the ring. His career had been pretty much over and he was adrift here in Virginia when the world ended. He seemed deeply contrite about his past, and admitted to it unprompted - like he was following one of the twelve steps or something. Rick simply shook his hand and sent him on his way.

They had three new allies. Three first people to help them fight in the war. Jesus had watched the entire exchange, admiring Rick's way of getting their full consent and pledge to join the cause. "Thank you for the weapons," he said, turning from watching Abe load up weapons for Cal and two other Hilltop guards to take away. "We were in dire need. This place will be able to protect itself while we're out fighting. That part was critical."

Rick stuffed his hands in his pockets, meeting Jesus' gaze. "You're givin' our community a new lease on life," he shrugged. "Of course we'd hold up our end o'things. Now we've gotta get our people together and figure out how to stop Negan from takin' it all."

Jesus nodded in agreement. Then he noticed movement, and glanced up at the balcony behind Rick.

Rick turned around to see Michonne and Murdock embracing on the balcony up at the house. She looked like she was crying, hard. His heart lurched, and he took a step forward, his hands flying out of his pockets. Murdock held her in his arms and supported her weight as she leaned into him, sobbing uncontrollably. Rick stood there and watched - torn between going to see what was the matter and minding his own business.

After a minute, he realized that she was holding something in her hand. The photograph of Andre, he knew instantly. He backed down, turning away again to face a watchful Jesus.

Rick tried to ignore his curiosity for a short while after that, helping to load up the R.V. But soon he couldn't stop himself. He turned to Jesus and got close. "You think you could ask Murdock to come see me before we go?"

Jesus raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Sure, Rick. I'll be back…"

Rick watched Jesus walk up the hill and disappear into the house. He looked up again at Michonne and Murdock on the balcony. They seemed deep in serious conversation. After a moment, she turned her head and looked down at him. They caught each other's gazes, and he stood there, staring up at her.

He couldn't help it. He told himself when all this was over, she could have as much time as she needed with Murdock, but he knew even then he'd have conditions. The man's relationship with Jesus counted in his favor, but Rick took nothing for granted.

It was time to go. Michonne turned away from him again and he reluctantly resumed helping to load the last of the supplies. He overheard Tony and Abraham chatting somewhat awkwardly as they hauled the chicken crate up to the roof of the camper and tied it in place. Good. They needed to get a long. It was gonna be a long ride back to Alexandria. And beyond that, their time together would be indefinite. There was no telling what they were walking into, or if they'd get out of it as cleanly as they all hoped.

Rick helped get everything packed up and he and Daryl rationed weapons to a mostly silent troupe of Hilltop guards. "They're not so bad." Tony assured him once everything had been traded and accounted for. "Just tired of defending this place with spears, more like. We got our knees knocked out from under us. Stuff like that emasculates a man. Makes him bitter."

Daryl and Rick stared at him curiously, contemplating his words. Abe nodded as though he agreed. Ben and Dana remained unfazed - they were used to Tony. He said a whole lot to say very little, most times. The young couple approached Rick as they all prepared to say their goodbyes and get on the road.

"Don't mind Tony," Ben spoke up quietly. "He's an oddball, but he's loyal. And smart."

"Yeah, I've seen somethin' like it before…" he said, thinking of Eugene, and Abraham, and Denise. He regarded them for a moment, wanting to say something conciliatory. Offer some show of empathy for their situation, but he came up short. He could only think that if he and Michonne had a son, his demeanor might be similar to Ben's. To keep himself from lingering on desires he shouldn't even be trying to fulfil yet (his intoxicated slip up last night included), he changed the subject. "We'll talk on the way about this place where you were held. You think you could help us map it out?"

Ben frowned, unsure, but he nodded. "I can try."

"Me too." Dana offered.

"Rick?" Rick turned to find Murdock making his way down the hill. He straightened up, moving forward to meet the other leader halfway. He tucked his hands back into the pockets of his jacket, his gun, machete, and knife moving securely in time with his footfalls from their typical positions on his belt.

"Sorry to interrupt," Rick said, his gaze flickering up at the balcony and back down to Murdock. "I just wanted to offer you one more thing." He gestured with his chin, over his shoulder at Dana and Ben. "We're only takin' them temporarily, but we should get your people trained. All of 'em. Maybe we could send someone back your way…"

"I'm stayin' Rick." Before Murdock could answer - or make his request for exactly that - Maggie was behind them, Glenn and Dr. Corday in tow. Now they were only missing Jesus and Michonne. She squinted in the sun, her young face bright and resolute. "Dr. Corday wants to make up for lost time, and I wanna learn everythin' I can here. Seems only fair I pass on some knowledge myself."

Rick looked from Maggie to Glenn. Glenn nodded, looking as though he was reluctant, but on board. He didn't want to be apart from her, and he didn't trust this place's defenses all that much. But he also didn't want her in the middle of where they were about to be. Not at all. She'd made up her mind. So had he.

"Alright." Rick agreed. "Thank you, Maggie. Doctor." He acknowledged the doctor, who returned the gesture and crossed her arms, watching the scene unfold.

"Ben, Dana, and Tony are our best people," Murdock confirmed as Glenn and Maggie embraced, preparing to part. "They'll help in any way they can, you have my word. So will Jesus. With him on your side, you'll have the advantage."

Rick accepted his word. "Maggie will teach you everythin' she knows, everythin' _we_ know. All of us. She and Michonne brought us together. She'll protect what you've built here." He smiled proudly over at Maggie, now, feeling paternal and impressed with her grace, humility, and strength. He wished Hershel could see his daughter now. "She's one hell of a leader. You're in good hands."

"Thank you, Rick." She whispered, fighting off emotion, missing her father terribly.

"I took your advice," Murdock admitted, drawing Rick's attention back his way. "I gave Michonne the picture of her son. It hit her pretty hard. But I'm glad I saved it."

Rick frowned. He could see that. She looked like she could barely stand. He may understand Murdock more, maybe even trust him enough to take him at his word. But that didn't mean he had to like him. "Well, I'm glad it worked out for you." He drawled, shifting on his feet again. He knew he shouldn't be saying it, but he couldn't stop the words from grinding their way out of his mouth. "You're her friend, and I know you mean well, so it's all right this time. But I don't mind tellin' you...I don't much like seein' her upset like that."

Murdock could only be amazed at the razor sharp one-eighty the man had just pulled off. Outwardly, he looked calm, relaxed, even. He was leaning slightly to the side, his hands in his pockets, nothing about his posture appeared threatening. But he had made himself clear. He was fiercely protective of Michonne. Murdock decided to stand firm. "Me either. But if it helps her heal, it's worth it. You'll see."

Rick nodded tersely. "You're right. I think I'll go do that now."

He turned to make his way back up the hill, now ready to go and get Michonne and Jesus so they could be on their way. He knew he wouldn't get away with how he'd parted with Murdock, but he didn't much care at the moment. He stopped short when he saw Michonne walking out of the house with a man who could only be Jesus - except he looked absolutely nothing like the man they'd just spent the last thirty-some hours with.

Everyone stopped what they were doing as Jesus and Michonne descended the red dirt hill.

The man they'd known as Jesus was still dressed like him, but he no longer had his smooth beard, or his long blond hair. Instead, his face was clean except a small brown patch just under and a bit of scruff just above his lips. His long locks had been shorn down to smooth, finely covered sides and a mop of wavy dark blond hair atop an impossibly young, beautifully wise face. His pale blue eyes stood out more brightly than ever, now, shining at them as he came to a stop just above them, next to Michonne.

He looked so much younger, and so much more cunning, more threatening. But he only smiled that cool smile of his, gazing at Rick, then Murdock as he took in their reactions. "Hello," he said softly. "I'm Paul."

Rick looked to Michonne for an explanation as Paul's gaze faltered under Murdock's. "The Saviors will be watching at some point. They can't know he's with us."

"If they see me, this is all over for us before it begins," he spoke up on his own behalf, his eyes rising again with firm determination storming inside them. "You need me to _fight_. This is the only way." Then he shrugged and smirked. "So Michonne gave me a haircut."

" _You look gorgeous_ , now can we get a fuckin' move on before we _die of boredom_ over here?!" Daryl barked through the passenger side window, rolling his eyes, spitting to the ground impatiently.

"I second the shit outta that!" Abraham joined in.

"Oh, piss off!" Elizabeth snapped, causing Rick to chuckle. She smiled sweetly at Maggie and Glenn. "What do you say to some tea, love?"

Maggie nodded, sighing. "Sure." Glenn embraced her at the last minute, squeezing her tight, closing his eyes so savor her warmth and softness and scent. He could only hope that time would move quickly, and they could be back together again as soon as possible. Maybe he wouldn't even notice the horrible shit they'd have to do. He kissed her neck, then her hands, and finally her stomach before letting her go and backing down the hill toward the camper, gazing at her lovingly until he had to turn around and watch where he was going.

Michonne left Paul's side and gave Maggie a hug. "We've got a lot to talk about, you and me," the young woman promised her friend quietly.

"Count on it." Michonne agreed, releasing her.

Then she made her way over to Murdock. Rick stood by, allowing them their space, but still watchful. She reached up and hugged him tightly, and he returned her embrace. "Stay alive, you hear, Miss 'Chonne?"

"You too, Murdock," she replied as he let her slowly back down on her feet. "I promise we'll have more time when this is over. See you soon. Okay?"

"Soon."

With that, Michonne let Murdock go - and at last, Rick had her at his side again as they made their way down the hill together. He couldn't help reaching over to lightly caress the small of her back as they walked, looking straight ahead while trying to let her know how much he'd missed her. She smiled softly, bumping her body into his a little in acknowledgement - and to let him know how much she'd missed him, too.

Michonne climbed into the camper first, and Rick climbed in close behind her.

Murdock and Paul stood on the hill. "You look...different. Good."

Paul smirked, walking closer, never taking his eyes off of him. The younger man stopped just short of the older, standing so close that they were in kissing distance. "When this is over, no more hiding, Murdock. Alright?"

Murdock nodded, giving in without even needing to think about it. He was just as in love with this newly unburdened version of his partner as the cautious, mysterious version before him. They kissed, right there at the top of the hill, in full view of everyone.

There was an impatient honk from the camper, and Jesus smiled, dislodging himself reluctantly.

"Save me some wine. I'll see you soon, 'Doc."

And he slipped away, jogging lithely down the hill and hopping into the camper with one last wave. Murdock waved to them as they started rolling back down the hill. Lizzie and Maggie stood next to him, watching. Maggie could see Glenn poking his head out the side window, watching her get smaller and smaller in the distance. She prayed for him - for them all. She hoped they would return, safe and sound. She knew, in the end, not all of them could.

* * *

Paul ignored the telling silence that greeted him when he got into the R.V. and Abraham drove them down the hill, out through the gates.

Everyone had seen him and Murdock kissing, but none of them - save Rick and Michonne - really knew what to make of it. Dana and Tony had always suspected, but Ben was quite simply shocked. He didn't really think he cared, but still, it surprised him. It also surprised him how young Jesus - Paul? - looked without his beard and all that hair.

Glenn, Abe, and Daryl chose not to comment. They didn't much care, as long as he and the other three held up their end of the bargain, and didn't lead them into a total trap.

"Hey...guys…" Glenn spoke up, breaking the loaded silence. He leaned forward and pulled a photograph from his shirt pocket. He gazed down at it for a moment, his heart growing ten times its normal size. He finally held it out to Daryl across from him proudly. Rick stood in the doorway near the bathroom, watching as Daryl's face softened and the atmosphere in the camper changed dramatically. They all passed along the ultrasound photo Glenn and Maggie had gotten from Dr. Corday. Abraham glanced over at it when it was passed up to Tony, who sat in the passenger seat next to him. He was touched, despite himself.

Eventually it got back to Michonne, and Rick watched her carefully. Her face melted as she looked at it, and she took a deep breath. He knew she had the photo of her own son somewhere, but she wasn't going to show it here. Instead she smiled happily at Glenn and handed the photo to Rick. He took it and gazed down at it. The tiny little thing was one of the most precious sights he'd seen in a long time. It gave him genuine hope. And it reminded him of something he had to follow up on. He handed the photo back to Glenn and gave him a brotherly punch on the arm, proud of him.

Glenn suppressed a cocky grin and put the picture back in shirt pocket, leaning back in his seat in content silence.

Rick got Michonne's attention and discreetly backed up toward the small bathroom stall in the middle of the short hallway separating the front cab area from the back bunk area. Rick slipped inside the tight, warm little space and waited, his heart pounding. The camper bumped and rolled along as he counted the seconds it took for Michonne to get away and join him.

Finally, the little door handle clicked and he got a 'whoosh' of air in his face as she opened it and slipped inside the bathroom with him. She closed the door as quietly as she could and locked it, leaning against it in the tight, cozy little space.

Rick started to get hard almost immediately. He almost forgot what he was going to say as he gazed at her in the muted din of the camper engine and the faint sounds of chickens clucking above their heads. Her body was so amazing, her breasts so full and round and inviting, peeking out at him from behind her leather vest. There was a perfect dip in her spine where her back didn't touch the door, just above her ass. Her lips were so full, and soft-looking. Her eyes were big and round and dark, gazing at him curiously in the small, dim bathroom.

He swallowed, trying to keep a firm grip on his arousal, placing one hand on the sink to keep himself in place. He wanted to pull her into him, but he knew if he did that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from tearing her clothes off. Michonne remained pinned to the door, all too aware of the dangers of being confined in a cramped space with one insatiable Rick Grimes. "What is it, baby?" she asked softly, trying to get him to spit it out so they could get out of there before they did something they'd regret.

Rick gripped the sink and plunged ahead. "I-I shouldn't have...done what I did last night, without protection." He confessed, sighing hard. "I know we said you needed time. And I wasn't thinkin'." He found it difficult to describe how out of his mind in love with her he was, or how much he needed to feel himself inside her last night. He could only apologize. "I'm sorry."

Michonne blinked at him, watching him stand there stiffly awaiting his fate. The R.V. continued its wavering dance with the road, and she smiled. "I was there, too, remember?"

He huffed out a breath, inching closer, staring at her. He remembered.

"I wanted you to do what you did, Rick…" Michonne whispered, causing his cock to go rock hard. He couldn't stop himself from leaning ever closer, breathing steadily through his nostrils. Her nipples tingled and she felt herself becoming wet from the sheer energy wafting off of his strong body, crashing into hers in this too small space. "It was risky, yeah. And we should probably nip that in the bud right now. But it _felt so good_ , baby." She was playing with fire, she knew. And he was starting to catch on. She bit her lip, her dark brown eyes glinting, watching for his reaction.

"Anybody ever tell you it's a bad idea to tease a crazy guy with a loaded gun?" He growled, grabbing her and pulling her into him, grinding his bulge against her crotch.

Rick claimed her succulent lips as soon as the words were out of his mouth, dipping his tongue inside as he backed her into the door, landing her there with a muffled 'thud'. She gasped in alarm and pleasure. He didn't give the potential consequences of the small noise any regard as he got her legs open and pressed himself ever deeper into the curves of her body. He just kept on kissing her, licking and sucking at her lips, so addicted to how they felt against his.

"Mmm...wait, Rick!" Michonne moaned in weak protest as he moved his hot, electric kisses from her lips to her neck. He seemed to have completely forgotten where they were. He was a few kisses away from freeing her breasts from her tank top and getting his mouth on her nipples. If that happened, she'd be a goner. She fought herself from grinding her crotch into his hard length, so desperate to feel his tongue licking her breasts and his cock inside her. She hadn't properly thought through what she'd started. He was _so intense_ , all the time. _God_ , it was so addictive. She had to put a stop to it, however, or they would end up fucking in this hot, gross bathroom where everyone would surely hear them. As much as she wanted him, now wasn't the time. She pushed against him harder, pushing down her tremendous desire for him. "Come on, baby. Not where everyone can hear us."

Rick reluctantly stopped kissing her neck, lifting his head and sighing hard against her lips. If she had let him go any further, he wouldn't have given two fucks what anyone could or couldn't hear. But Michonne cared, so he would respect her wishes.

He let her down from his grip on her thighs and stepped back. Before he could completely let her go, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close to him in his favorite position. Rick gazed down at Michonne, ready to take her home, dreading what was to come after.

"I'm still sorry about last night." He told her. "But if it results in you bein' pregnant…"

"Rick...it took me and Mike a few tries before we had Andre. I'm not holding out hope the same wouldn't be true of me and you." She finally met his gaze, nervous for what he would think, or say. He was simply looking at her like a man in love.

"Whatever happens, Michonne...there's nobody on this earth I'd rather do this with. "

Michonne felt so happy she could cry. She didn't, but she was touched. They were ridiculously in love. They'd always been in love. They could both just _feel it_. It was intoxicating and affirming. Rick sighed and gave her a gentle squeeze.

"You up for this?" He asked beseechingly, needing her to reassure him again. She was _so damned good_ at making him feel like everything was gonna be alright.

Michonne stroked the hair at the nape of his neck and sighed. "It's gonna be _a fight_ , Rick."

He swallowed, acknowledging the risk. "You gotta trust me, baby. As long as we're together...we'll be alright. We'll be more than alright. We'll win."

"We'll win." She repeated passionately. They leaned their foreheads together, breathing each other in. Rick finally released her and she kissed his face all over before turning and slipping quickly out of the tiny bathroom, leaving him alone again.

* * *

For a few hours, Abraham just drove, occasionally carrying on conversation with Tony. Ben and Dana slept, as did Glenn. Rick and Michonne made a small space in the back among all the crates and boxes. He watched her eat her food, and then lay in her lap, letting her stroke his hair.

Paul and Abraham started arguing about whether or not 'Come and Get Your Love' was a good song, with Tony occasionally chiming in. Rick finally gave up trying to rest and appeared in the doorway with Michonne close behind him. He simply listened, leaning against the door, observing the dynamics of this brand new fellowship play out.

After a while of being unable to fall asleep, Daryl finally had enough of the asinine conversation and pulled himself from under his jacket. "Hey Rick? Can we talk business now, man?"

Rick nodded, losing his lazy amusement, conceding the floor to him.

Daryl tossed his jacket aside and scooted forward in his seat. He pointed to Ben and Dana. "You two - start talkin'. Give us everythin' you got."

Ben and Dana exchanged looks, and started talking. Everyone woke up and started listening. Michonne got them some rolls of tissue and some black markers - all they had to draw on. Ben did his best to sketch what he could see of the compound from the very few, very brief glimpses he got from under his hood while they were being hauled inside.

"There were two guards, here - and here." Ben marked their positions against his drawing of the facade of the compound with the black marker confidently. "Maybe a third - I'm not sure. I lost track of the voices when we got up there."

"That's okay, you're doin' good." Rick said reassuringly as they crowded around the flimsy table top at the front of the camper. He nodded for the kid to go on. "Keep going. What else could you make out?"

"Cars…" Tony spoke up from behind them in the passenger seat. He was turned to face them, trying to make out what Ben was drawing on the tissue paper at the table. "Lots of cars. Parked all in a row."

Ben thought about it for a minute. He realized Tony was right. He had thought he'd seen a massive car park behind a long wire fence when he tripped over a rock. "Right. Yes. Here - and all along here." He sat up straight in his seat, drawing their attention back to him with his words, and indicated on the makeshift blueprints where he'd seen the cars. "They're hoarding loads of cars, all parked behind this fence. I saw at least twenty back there, easily."

"Did you see any motorcycles?" Daryl asked gruffly.

Ben thought about it. "Maybe. Not too sure."

"What, you think these are the guys who stole your bike?" Rick asked, gesturing to Ben's sketch with this chin.

Daryl nodded slowly, staring at the drawing too, leaning forward over the table, his hair in his eyes. "I know it. That guy Dwight the doctor was talkin' about last night? That's him. _He's_ the motherfucker I ran into after the herd got loose."

"Did you tell him about us?" Rick asked, instantly thinking of Daryl's mission to bring people into the community. When his friend and brother hesitated, then nodded slowly, looking up at him through his hair, Rick knew. They didn't have much time at all. Michonne watched the exchange, feeling tense, and a little worried. But they couldn't let that worry distract them. The information Ben gave them was helpful, but it didn't really help them discern how many people were inside. Twenty cars did not mean twenty bodies. Rick gestured to Dana, indicating that she was up as he rasped: "What about the _inside_? You said you saw where they keep their weapons and ammo. Can you retrace your steps on this?"

Dana took a deep breath and took the marker from Ben. She tucked her hair behind her ears and stared at the long roll of tissue paper, picturing the walls and rooms of the compound in her mind. She had been bagged on the way in, but not when she was being led around by Tito. Swallowing down the bile that accompanied the memory of what they did to her in there, Dana began to draw with a shaky hand.

"This hallway leads out, I think…" she muttered, frowning hard as she made delicate marks on the flimsy paper. "And here...to a long hall full of doors. Rooms, I think. Where they sleep. There were guards at each end. Here - here - and here." The group watched her in attentive silence as the camper put more and more distance between them and the Hilltop. "Then a shorter hall here…" she breathed. "That's where he took me. There's a huge stairwell leading up to a tower here - there may be guards up there, I'm not sure. And here, that's where I saw the room with all the guns."

"You absolutely sure about that?" Michonne pressed quietly.

Dana met her gaze and nodded. "I'll never forget it…"

Silence befell them. Ben took the marker from Dana's hand and kissed it, as suddenly the camper started to slow down. "Holy shit...guys!"

At the sound of Tony's panicked voice, Rick's heart dropped into his stomach and his hand immediately went to his gun as he rose from the table. His eyes darted toward Michonne first and then through the windshield as Abraham slowed down faster and faster before finally bringing them to a screeching halt.

Everyone froze.

Through the windshield, in the middle of the road, they could see at least twenty men and a few women sitting on motorcycles, staring at them. They were all wearing identically cold, emotionless expressions on their faces. They were also all armed to the teeth - every single one of them.

"That's the Saviors…" Tony whispered, his heart racing in his chest. "That's them. They're gonna kill us."

* * *

"Now, _I suggest_ …" The man at the front of the motorcycle gang bellowed at them through the windshield. "You _come on out._ " He grinned suddenly. "Don't try anything stupid! Don't try and be brave. Or we'll pump you so full of bullets, your insides'll blow apart. _Understood?_ "

"Nobody panic." Rick said very quietly.

There was no sound but the occasional clucking coming from the chicken crate on the roof of the camper. They all watched in mute alarm as everyone in the gang raised their weapons, aiming them at the windshield. They had pistols and shotguns and AK-47's and everything in between.

"With your _hands up_. Or its dandelion time. Think of your intestines, folks."

A few of them chuckled at his sick humor, but it was clear that he was dead serious. Rick nodded for them all to comply, eyeing Daryl and Glenn as they raised their hands in the air.

They all slowly filed out of the camper, lining up along the road in front of it, their hands in the air. The Saviors on the motorcycles held them at gunpoint, staring at them cruelly under the waning late afternoon sun.

"Put down those toys, girls and boys." The beady-eyed man sneered at them.

Clenching his jaw so hard he thought he might break it, Rick nodded for them to comply. The gang kept their weapons trained on everyone as they all dropped their weapons slowly and put their hands back in the air.

The leader laughed and looked behind them at the camper. He indicated the chickens and the trailer with the barrel of his sawed-off shotgun, whistling low to his fellow Saviors. " _Well, well, well_ , looky what we have here. You girls and boys are _fuckin' loaded!_ Where might you be off to with all that shit in your vehicle?"

The man's expression indicated to Paul, and a second later Rick, that he already knew. And even if he didn't already know, it wouldn't matter. They were not going to make it there.

"We're not lookin' for any trouble," Rick spoke up, eyeing him warily, itching to get them out of this. "We're just headed home. We can be on our way, nobody has to get hurt here."

"You're absolutely dead wrong on that one, Rhett Butler. You _got_ trouble. And trouble's got you." The Savior cut into him, glaring him down menacingly. "Somebody is definitely getting hurt here. You see - every single fucking piece of shit thing you got belongs to _us_. It belongs to _Negan_. Including those sickly fuckin' chickens you got strapped to your roof. The lint in your fuckin' pockets. And _those three_."

Ben's hands clenched to fists when the leader indicated him, Dana, and Tony. He had thought he recognized this dude's voice. It was the voice of one of the cocksuckers who had been watching over him at the compound. He had talked nonstop, taking cheap shots at him through the door, talking about what they were likely doing to Dana, about what _he_ was gonna do, as soon as he got his chance. Paul - Jesus - stood watching, figuring that none of them recognized him, and counting his lucky stars for the next few minutes they had left to live.

"What about them?" Rick drawled, his voice almost conversational.

"Here's rule number one, Rhett." The leader turned his attention back to Rick and continued coldly: "You don't ask questions. You ask questions, I kill your ass. Rule number two: You no longer own shit. You wouldn't own shit anyway, but driving around with _these_ stupid motherfuckers means you really, most definitely _do not own shit_ , not even your own lives anymore. Rule number three: Those few of you that survive this road will regret the day you fucked with Negan for the rest of your pitiful, broken lives."

He snapped his fingers and pointed to Daryl.

"You - Lurch. Start unloading that shit. We're gonna count it. And once we're done countin' it, we're gonna kill as many of you has we need to square the debt, how's that sound?" He grinned again, raising his eyebrows at them. "Like a party? Excellent."

A big, burly guy on an even burlier-looking motorcycle next to him stood up and dismounted, walking toward the group cautiously with his gun drawn on Daryl.

"Everyone on your motherfucking knees. Now." The leader barked at them, drawing his gun at them again. "I suggest you just swallow this, my friends. If you have to eat shit, it's best not to nibble...just bite, chew, swallow, repeat. Easy peasy."

Rick and Michonne exchanged looks, and she could see him trying hard not to panic. He didn't want any of them killed, but also he didn't know how long he could stand this until he would have to try to save them. She tried to convey with her eyes that she was with him, no matter what, whenever he was ready. All he had to do was say the word.

Abraham glared at the burly guy approaching Daryl, and then at the mousy bastard ordering them around with the sawed-off in his scrawny hands. That biker jacket was swallowing his greasy, beady-eyed ass practically whole. He talked tough, but his only power was in his army. That made the big ginger impatient. He looked over at Glenn as Daryl was hauled to his feet and shoved toward the camper, then at Rick.

"I can hear those tiny, rusty wheels turning around in your head, there, big guy." The leader said to him, smiling casually. "Chew, swallow, repeat, remember? You're not getting out of this."

"Who is Negan?" Rick spoke up, drawing his attention away, trying to keep it there on him. He shrugged, still keeping his hands up, still managing to keep his cool. "We've never heard of him."

"Oh now, you don't think I'm gonna fall for that, do you?" He gestured with his weapon to Tony, Dana, and Ben. "You think I'm blind? You jerkin' my cock? Am I on Candid Camera here? Those little bastards obviously let you in on our little deal." He shook his head at them, pretending to truly be scandalized, pointing his gun at Rick's heart. "And they thought they could get away with giving away Negan's property. Now I thought I told you the rules, mister."

Michonne's heart lurched as suddenly the leader had his laser focus on Rick again. She had been this close to reaching her sword. She intended to somehow get a strong enough, fast enough blow landed across his forearm - he was standing just barely close enough. She would sever the part holding the sawed-off, grab it, and lay down cover fire until they could figure out...something. It was the best she had. Keeping him talking was the only way to get him close enough; strike while he wasn't paying attention to his movements.

But now he was focused on Rick again, apparently cottoning on to his little slip up. "You don't ask questions. You ask questions, I've got to kill you." He shrugged, aimed at Rick's head, and put his finger on the trigger.

There was a sudden, brutally powerful explosion just behind him, causing him to fly down into a protective squat. The motorcycle gang he'd been sitting in the road with had been eviscerated. There was nothing left of them but charred limbs and bike parts surrounded by thick plumes of black smoke.

Her ears ringing, Michonne recovered from the shock of the explosion before anyone else, and she rose to her feet, powered by pure instinct and adrenaline. Just as the leader was getting his head together, turning again to shoot as many of them as he could, she had her sword unsheathed and she brought it down hard.

Rick rolled up into a ball on the ground as the gang leader's head came flying off his body like a cork, then went skidding across the charred asphalt towards him.

It bounced off his boot and came to a bloody halt just next to Abraham. The big man could only chuckle at the gruesome expression frozen in time on the severed head of that mousy cocksucker. "Chew on _that_ , motherfucker…"

Everyone got shakily to their feet. Rick immediately seized and hugged Michonne tightly, his heart pounding with relief. The group took in the sight of the blast wave that hit the Saviors - they'd all been blown to bits in an outward, sweeping pattern that had expired to powerful, hot air by the time it reached Rick's group. All it did was knock them on their asses and shred the shit out of their eardrums.

Daryl emerged from around the side of the camper, carrying their last rocket launcher. He had decided to keep it, and bring it back home with them at the last minute. Deal or no deal, the Hilltop didn't need _all_ their damn weapons. He was glad as hell that he did, because it had just saved their asses.

"Guy was a fuckin asshole…" he croaked, just as the deep gash in his shoulder from fighting off the big burly guy started to throb with pain.

Rick, Michonne, Abe and Glenn chuckled with relief, shaking off the last of their aftershock.

"This isn't good." Paul spoke up, staring at the ruins. "Those Savoirs were on the lookout. They weren't just patrolling idly."

"Did you see that Dwight guy anywhere in there?" Rick asked Daryl, gesturing to the charred mess that used to be the gang members.

"Nah." Daryl shook his head, lowering the rocket launcher. "He ain't in there. My bike, neither."

"Let's get you patched up," Rick rasped, gesturing for them all to follow him back to the camper. "Clean this up, and get back home. _Fast_."

They all agreed as they cleaned up what was left of their first encounter with the Saviors. Michonne stabbed the decapitated head of the leader so he wouldn't turn. The men handled the rest of the remains, stacking them up in the ditches on the side of the road. Michonne and Dana tossed the motorcycle pieces in a pile under a tree about a mile off the road.

Once done, they met back at the camper, loaded up and drove off. Rick took the wheel this time, and practically floored it down the back roads of Virginia, back towards Alexandria, as fast as they could.

Back towards home. And war.


	14. the ones who live

**A/N: I've been so anxious to update this, because Richonne in cannon has just been soooo good (especially 7x12, hallelujah!). But I decided to just keep going and tell it how I'm gonna tell it, with nods to the cannon development on the show. I'm still working on the next two chapters, but I owe you guys an update since like forever, so here you are. Please enjoy! P.S. You can find the songs I've been using up until now in a public Spotify playlist: Bad Thangs | The Soundtrack by kendrawriter :D**

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of..._

' _Tick of the Clock', Chromatics_

* * *

They were just under three hours away from home.

After a few miles, Abraham took over driving again so Rick could conduct business. Tony resumed shotgun. They were all shaken, but they were all recovering quickly.

The camper was a speeding white and brown bullet propelling itself steadily through the wilderness.

The sun was sinking down in the sky. Bright hues of warm oranges and blues were giving way to bleak greys and murky silvers that performed a steady march toward darkness.

Inside, Rick and Michonne huddled around the table with Jesus and the other Hilltop members while he was patching Daryl up.

Jesus...Paul...was frowning with a potent mixture of concentration and contemplation sitting ominous and heavy on his young, handsome face. His ocean blue eyes glinted in the waning light, his brow furrowed. The wavy plumes of his dark blond hair hung over his forehead as he worked and spoke simultaneously.

"The Saviors only go out on patrols in the wide open for two reasons." He was saying in a low, serious voice as he cleaned up the gash as best he could using one of the first aid kits Daryl and Aaron had found. He followed that up with a large gauze pad and began to tie an Ace bandage around Daryl's arm.

It was the only thing he could do right now to stop the bleeding in that nasty gash he'd gotten, until they could get Denise to properly sew him up back home. Jesus tied off the wound, causing Daryl to grunt and ball up the fist of his good hand on the table.

"Either they're coming to collect from one of the communities they've enslaved...or something is _wrong_ , and they're hunting traitors. Troublemakers. Enemies."

With each word, Paul's eyes traveled from face to face. All the while, he wrapped Daryl's shoulder and taped the ends of the bandage so that the whole thing would hold until they reached the safe zone.

"It's far too early for them to be coming to collect from the Hilltop. That isn't due until next month." He said gravely, zeroing in on Rick's face. "We'd hoped to be well ahead of this by then."

Rick stood with one arm raised to the cubby hole above the table, leaning against it, his other hand firmly grasping Michonne's at his side, watching Paul do his work.

Ben and Dana sat holding each other at the table between Daryl and Glenn. Ben had his arm around her shoulders, the elbow of his other arm resting on the tabletop, fingers fisted at his lips. Dana leaned into his side, her icy blues traveling from Rick to Michonne to Glenn and back to Daryl. This had been the first they'd seen of what Rick and his group were capable of. They both still looked awed by the explosion that caused the evisceration of a whole bunch of people who'd been seconds away from killing them. Not to mention seeing Michonne behead a man and Abraham taunt his severed head, laughing it off like it was nothing. Daryl's nonchalance about blowing a bunch of horrible murderers to bits made them both keen to sit back, listen, and learn.

Both Glenn and Rick knew, they were still new to this kind of thing. But they were adapting pretty well. They were kids, but they had both been through a lot. And so far, they were both grimly determined to do whatever it took to help rid the world of the Saviors. Even Tony seemed impressed by their narrow escape. He sat lost in thought, feeling pretty much the same as Ben and Dana, up front next to Abe while everyone listened to Murdock's right hand man.

Rick had been thinking while he'd been speaking, assessing what he meant. The long and short of it was that Alexandria was in danger. And they were running out of time. None of the Alexandrians could help picturing having to witness someone they loved get their brains beat in. By a man who called his bat _Lucille_...it was almost like a sick joke. One Rick did not want to hear in person.

Michonne spoke in a low, urgent voice. "That's gotta mean they know something's up." She turned to inform Jesus and the other Hilltop members: "We killed most of the Wolves when they attacked us a couple of months ago. We thought we were okay this whole time." Michonne looked back at Rick, her tone hollow with dread. "Maybe we weren't."

"Shit…" Rick grunted softly, sighing and shifting on his feet. Carol came flooding into his mind, and Morgan's death, and the Wolf chained up in one of their brownstones. "And we've got one of 'em." He reminded them all, gesturing to nothing with Michonne's hand still firmly entwined in his. Dread coated his thick drawl. "Possibly one of their leaders."

Ben and Dana exchanged looks, but said nothing. They paid careful attention to everything being said as the camper bumped and rolled along. The chicken clucking was noticeably absent this time.

"Maybe they were supposed to give us up to Negan a long time ago, Rick." Michonne muttered, staring at him meaningfully, her shining brown eyes boring into his shining blue ones. She tugged on his hand, taking hold of his forearm with the other. The meaning of this realization hit them both hard. Their community was indeed in danger, more urgently than either of them had even thought. Rick had been right all along...just too slow. Michonne moved still closer to him, her thumb rubbing against the thick, strong veins pulsing beneath his warm skin. "Now we've killed his people. If Negan _did_ send a patrol to figure out what happened to the Wolves, it's only a matter of time before he notices they've gone missing, too."

"He _will_ come looking for his people. And when Negan comes, he comes with everything he's got. We need to be ready." Paul backed her up, also staring at Rick expectantly.

Rick nodded, swallowing hard. He turned to look at Paul, and then the group at the table. "Then we're gonna need more people on board. We're gonna need more weapons, before anythin'." He tried to reassure Michonne, giving a tender squeeze of her fingers with his own, turning to catch her gaze again. "You said it at dinner last night. We have the advantage, for _now_. Maybe only for a few days. So we're gonna _take_ it. We gotta hit that compound. Soon."

Michonne returned his confident nod as their fingers caressed each other's in full view of everyone. She squeezed his strong hand again, feeling the metal of her necklace around his wrist brush against her skin. "So we make a plan tonight and we head out again first thing." She asserted, still watching him, witnessing the protectiveness and determination unfold across his serious, handsome face. "Early."

"Let's talk to that Wolf." Daryl rasped decisively from the table. His arm hurt like hell, but he barely noticed. He was seething at the thought of that shithead being inside his town, a ticking time bomb within range of doing any kind of harm to anyone. "He knows somethin'. Carol's right. No more playin' nice. He _talks_. _Tonight._ "

Rick finally released Michonne from his gaze, lowering his head to look down at his wounded friend. "I'm with you. We'll go get him tonight. Jesus? You think you can lend us a hand with that?" Rick eyed their new ally and waited.

The younger man smirked and nodded. "Of course. But please, call me Paul while we're out here?" Paul countered. "If they know _Jesus_ is involved, Hilltop is vulnerable. And we need to keep these three out of sight when we're not fighting." He gestured to Ben and Dana, indicating Tony with a nod of his head in the direction of the driver's cab. "Deal?"

Rick thought about it for a moment, but nodded, returning Paul's conciliatory look. "Fair enough. We'll go get the Wolf once we've had time to let everyone in on this. We need to move fast." He sighed when Glenn's eyes shot up to his. Glenn knew what was up. Spencer wasn't going to like this. No one would. But they didn't have a choice. And as far as Glenn was concerned, he was with Rick. "They're not gonna like it. But we don't have time." Rick echoed his thoughts. "We're gonna need to do somethin' drastic. All of us."

Everyone in the camper knew what he was getting at. It was kill or die time.

* * *

Paul suggested that everyone try to rest. To conserve their energy for the grueling hours ahead.

Rick readily agreed. They had two hours to go before they got home, and then they would have to kick into forward motion indefinitely. There was no telling when they'd have time for rest again after they set out to put their plans into action. Rick felt like the clock was ticking down hard on their advantage even now as Abraham drove fast through the ominous dusk. The camper got eerily quiet as they sped along. The trees on either side of them were like dark, sinister apparitions, twisting and turning and blurring past them.

Rick had half a mind to climb up on the roof and check to see if those chickens were either asleep, in shock from the explosion, or dead. He remembered his pigs from the prison.

Instead, he sat back and used the dim light above the table across from him to study the diagrams Ben and Dana had drawn.

They'd need a distraction. They had no idea how many people they'd be facing. Maybe the Wolf could let them in on that.

No matter the body count, Rick wanted them to be quick, and quiet, and do it under cover of night. He just worried if the other Alexandrians would go for it. He'd promised Michonne he'd try. So he would. But if they _didn't_ go for it...well, they would cross that bridge when they came to it.

A plan was already forming in his head as he looked at the black marks on the thin tissue, picturing himself back in his past life, when he was a sheriff's deputy. He and Shane had done so much silent communication, had so many close calls, sneaking in and around buildings and houses of all makes and sizes. Hunting for criminals. Since the world died, he'd used the same tactics to clear dozens of houses and buildings of walkers - the prison being the most difficult to date - out here in the wild. Only now without Shane. Now with his new best friend and the love of his life.

 _So many things could go wrong_ , Rick knew. He sat there across from a booth full of old friends and new allies. He was responsible for their lives; he was the one who had to lead them through this to the other side. But he couldn't do it without Michonne. He knew that with certainty, as sure as he knew the cadence of his own heartbeat.

 _So much_ could go wrong. It didn't matter how long he studied these diagrams, or how many contingency plans they came up with. The fact still remained, hovering in the back of his mind, poised to strike at his heart...he could lose any one of them for any reason, at any time during all of this. He could lose _Michonne_. He could've lost her on that road just now.

If Beth, and Dale, and Sofia, and Tyreese and Noah and on and on had proven anything. If the way he lost Lori and missed the birth of Judith proved _anything_. It was that fact.

It both frightened the hell out of Rick and made him fiercely determined. He knew they would lose people. But he was still determined to do everything in his power to keep from losing Michonne. Or Carl, or Judith, or Glenn, or any one of the people that mattered to him most.

Rick rolled up the tissue and gently slipped it into the inner pocket of his traveling jacket, which was draped across the seat he was slouched in. He blinked, seeing the x-ray imprint of the diagram behind his eyelids. After rubbing his eyes for a minute, he opened them again and gazed around the dark, quiet camper. He lingered on Daryl's slouched form, covered in his leather jacket, his faint snores traveling from underneath it.

Ben and Dana rested against each other, comforting each other, as they'd done the entire ride. Rick watched them for a few moments, still. He really liked them both. Especially Ben. He didn't know how else to label it or if there was anything to be done about it. He hoped they could take care of themselves. He decided to question them about Negan and his people. It seemed like they'd witnessed the most and could provide the most insight.

Glenn slept with his arms crossed and his chin pressed into his chest, his face obscured by his thick black hair falling across it. Rick was really fucking glad Glenn had made it back to them alive. He couldn't imagine doing what they would now have to do without him, either.

Abe and Tony sat up front, watching the scenery steadily darken.

Rick realized that Michonne was not there.

His body immediately started to miss hers, craving her warmth and softness. He stood up, steadying himself on his feet, and stepped as quietly as he could toward the back, where she had to be. He heard soft voices back there and also realized that he had not seen Paul up front, either. He shook his head as he ambled steadily towards the back, still adjusting to the name change.

Rick stopped just at the threshold that separated the hall from the back nook, where a dim halo shone from Paul's flashlight. He listened, staring at his boots sitting worn and heavy in the ragged carpet.

"He reminds me of my friend Sam…" Paul was saying softly. "Both of them have that quiet, Southern machismo thing down." There was a chuckle as Rick stood in the semi-darkness, just out of reach of the orb of light cast down on the carpeted floor. He realized they were talking about him and willed his body to remain still, fighting against the roll and sway of the camper as it flew down the dusty back roads of Virginia. "Both of them can wear _the hell_ out of a pair of jeans, too."

Both Michonne and Paul laughed now, and Rick was pulled forward by the sound of the hidden melancholy in her voice. He wanted to talk to her, but he waited a moment. He was glad to know that they were getting closer. The tension between Rick and Murdock might never cool to nothing. Having Paul (or Jesus, or whomever he chose to be) stick close to Michonne would ensure their alliance stayed balanced, and transparent. Michonne didn't trust easily. Her taking to him like this meant something. Something that could only be good. Rick trusted her instincts implicitly.

"Sam is the leader from the cape?" Michonne asked, causing Rick to pause his thoughts to listen.

"One of them, yes. He's a good man. He, Eric, and Bill lead a group of _survivors_ , just like you and Rick and your people." Paul confirmed sincerely, and Rick waited to hear what Michonne would say to him next.

"I want to meet them," she declared. "I'm glad we met _you_. I trust you when you say they're good."

"You will, I promise. We'll need them. In the meantime...hold tight to that, Michonne…" He heard Paul say to her, about something he couldn't see in the dark. There was a long pause as the shadows moved. "And hold tight to _him_." The other man added in a whisper.

That was as good a cue as any. Rick stepped forward, appearing in the doorway. In the shifting gloom, he could finally make them both out sitting next to each other, huddled in the small space he'd cleared out earlier so Michonne could eat.

"Hey." He grunted in a hoarse whisper as he unholstered his Python and gently tucked it into a crate.

"Hey…" Michonne answered softly, her eyes wide and focused on his as he turned to face them again.

Paul gave Michonne a kiss on the cheek and stood up. "I'll go and keep Abraham entertained while he drives. I can't imagine Tony's any help. You two get some rest." He gave Rick a supportive nod and slipped past him. Rick stepped further into the small, crammed space as Paul pulled the flimsy 'door' closed behind him.

Michonne was holding the picture of Andre in her hand, Rick could just make out. He immediately bent down and slid onto the seat next to her, reaching out to wrap his arms around her. Michonne settled into his side, her head resting on his slowly rising and falling chest. She held the picture out to him and he took it, stroking her arm with his free hand, his thumb ghosting across the her smooth, warm skin.

Rick could barely see it in the semi-darkness of twilight, but he had already memorized it. He stared at the image of Michonne holding her child, gazing down at Andre with _so much love_ in her eyes. He found the thumb holding the picture moving as well, stroking the outline of her face, then Andre's. "He looks just like you…" he muttered, taking a deep breath.

"Hm...I think that always annoyed Mike a little." She responded. "But my baby had such a sweet face. I didn't care who he looked like." She sighed, and Rick held her tighter.

He found himself immensely curious, but he didn't speak or ask any questions. He didn't want to force her to think about things she didn't want to, not when they were coming closer and closer to unknown danger. He felt even more grateful to Jesus/Paul now that the Hilltop was far behind them in the distance, and he could feel the peaceful bliss from the canopy bed slipping further and further away. That morning had been everything, and he wished he somehow could've savored it even more while it was happening.

"He was so smart." Michonne offered, sadness and pride warring with each other in her wavering voice. He felt her lips moving against his chest through the fabric of his black t-shirt. "And so full of kindness, Rick. He was empathetic, like Judith. Observant, like Carl."

Michonne adjusted herself against his lean, sturdy body, lifting her face upward. She studied his handsome face in the faint moonlight as he continued to stare at the photograph Murdock had given her.

"He didn't...deserve…to do die the way he did." Michonne shuddered against him, the ghost of her child moving through her. Rick tore his eyes from the picture, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing her tight. He kissed her forehead, temples, and cheekbones.

"No. He didn't." He agreed softly, empathy rising up inside him. If that had been Carl. Or Judith. At one time, he'd thought it _had_ been. He knew how she felt. And yet he couldn't possibly.

After a long while of her fighting back tears, she sighed and reached for the picture. He gave it to her, watching as she tucked it away again. Michonne immediately returned to her position snuggled against him, enjoying the safety and comfort of his strong arms wrapped around her.

"I thought I would lose you out there." She said quietly, hugging him tight. "That fucking guy...I thought he was gonna kill you."

She knew that fear wasn't going to go away anytime soon. It was strong enough to sink down into the pit of her stomach like a brick. She savored the feel of his heartbeat pulsing underneath her fingertips, the smell of his earthy, musky scent filling her nostrils. His pillow-soft lips nuzzling her skin. He took her face in one of his hands and tilted her chin upward so he could look at her.

"I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost _you_ , Michonne." He breathed, holding her close. "But you gotta _promise_ me. No matter what happens? You keep going. You finish this. Even if…" Rick swallowed, falling down into the deep, intricate depths of her brown eyes. Falling so deeply in love with her that he knew right then and there: He would die for her. "Even if that means leavin' me behind. Even if it means...that I have to die so you can live."

Michonne's reaction surprised him - and then again, it didn't. She frowned and shook her head hard, sitting up in his arms and grasping his hand that held her face. " _No_ , Rick." She insisted in a tender whisper. "That's not how this works. We can beat them. We can find a way. But we have to do it together."

"Michonne…" Rick blinked, wanting to resist her rejection of his protective stance. But instead he took a deep breath and closed his eyes as Michonne leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear.

"Just listen. We're gonna get this done. That's what we do. We ended up at the Hilltop for a reason. You _and_ me. " She whispered, making his heart clench with emotion. "We're the ones who _live. You_ said that, remember? We survive _together_ , or we go down fighting." He opened his eyes to see his wedding ring on her thumb that caressed his.

He nodded.

She smiled.

Then Rick's eyes zeroed in on her lips, and his lashes slipped down to hide them partially from her.

Michonne felt a flash of heat and arousal spread all over her tender yet incredibly still yearning sex, watching Rick's expression change from determination to unbridled lust. He leaned into her, his lips brushing against hers as he exhaled through his nostrils.

She felt him now, he was getting hard against the side of her thigh. Her fingers dug into his toned abs in response. Rick's muscles jerked beneath her hand and he kissed her suddenly, seizing her full, moist lips with his and sucking fiercely.

They weren't alone, and Alexandria was getting closer. There was no way they could get away with this - but Rick didn't care. Michonne only resisted half-heartedly. She'd almost lost him.

Without much fight, she allowed him to slowly suck her bottom lip into his mouth, swayed by his indulgent, deep-throated moan. He tugged on her hips and shifted their bodies so that he was situated between her legs, giving himself more access to her mouth. In return, Michonne reached down between them and stroked his dick through the tight denim of his jeans with a slow, probing squeeze of her palm. Rick growled against her mouth, bucking his hips forward. He grew even harder as he started to grind himself into her massaging hand, begging for more. Michonne's head swam with desire as he hungrily seized her angel cake lips over and over again with his own. Then he did the unthinkable, damn him.

He pulled her tighter against him, reaching up to pull her tank top and bra out of his way to reveal her gorgeous, plump breasts to him. Her nipples hardened at the feel of his breath ghosting across them. And then his lips were around them, his tongue caressing them - and Michonne was lost. He was a hungry, groaning, salt and pepper bear and her nipples were honeycombs, repeatedly drawing him back for more sweet nectar. Every time he obeyed, going in for another taste of her. He licked and sucked them, kneading and teasing them with his tongue.

Michonne felt her panties flood as Rick devoured her breasts and pressed his thick, now rock hard need into the palm of her hand through his jeans. She stroked him as best she could between their smashed together bodies and the taught fabric concealing him from her, trapping him and teasing her. They didn't really have time for this. She didn't know if she could handle it without making noise... _mmm_ , but he felt too good all over her. Smelling the way he smelled, now kissing her neck with his unfairly sensational and skilled lips. God, how did he manage to elicit little electric shocks all over her sensitive skin with every hot, damp kiss?

Without thinking any further, Michonne gave in to the tsunami of sensations Rick's strong, heavy body, attentive kissing, and insistent erection were stirring up inside her. She let go of his bulge to fiddle hastily with his belt and jeans. She had to get her hands on him.

Rick followed suit, snapping the button on her pants open, undoing the buckle on her belt with deft precision. He unzipped her and eagerly snaked his warm hand down into her panties. Seconds later Michonne felt his thick fingers diving into her slick, wet folds.

Damn, she was so wet. It wasn't fair. He didn't stand a chance. He moaned against her lips. " _Please_ , baby?"

His throaty plea and probing, enticingly thick fingers made Michonne's head spin with desire, and she did as he asked without question. As soon as her legs widened, his middle finger sank into her sex - and he thrust another finger inside with it. Rick swallowed Michonne's noise of pure pleasure with a kiss, and he began to pump steadily, fucking her with two thick fingers sliding in and out of her tight wet pussy. His forearm flexed and thrust, his lips pursed against hers, eyes glazed with desire. His baby gave as good as she got, reaching a cool hand into his jeans and pulling his dripping dick out so she could stroke him skin to skin.

He made a noise and buried his face into her neck, causing Michonne to laugh quietly through her pleasure. He was going to give them away if he couldn't contain himself. His fervor for her made her want him even more, though, and she began to fuck his hand while pumping his shaft (aided by his slippery precum) with renewed dedication.

After a while of being teased and tormented, Rick grunted an enraptured " _Fuck it_..." and pulled his hand from her depths to lean back and pluck off her boots. He ignored her gasp of surprise as he pulled her pants (panties included) down her legs. Then Rick reached into his back pocket and revealed another surprise - a shiny, gold-foiled condom. "You didn't let me finish earlier," he whispered, a sultry smirk dancing across his lips, referring to their bathroom talk shortly before their explosive introduction to the Saviors. "Jesus came through. A whole box o'condoms."

She rolled her eyes at him. It was more like he'd been too eager to devour her that he got ahead of himself before he could mention them. But it wasn't exactly like she made it easy for him, looking so good and teasing him the way she did. They both laughed quietly, knowing that they were both guilty.

Michonne ghosted her fingertips across his abs, practically purring for him as he tugged his jeans down on his hips. His pink python peaked out at her, having been deprived of protection by underwear. A long trail of glistening, pearlescent precum was running down from its tip, just visible in the dimness. Her mad cowboy eyed her with almost primal intent as he rolled the condom on, the shadows from the passing scenery now dancing across his handsome, chiseled face.

Rick knelt down again and scooped her up, wrapping his arm around her and swinging her around so she was straddling his lap. Michonne kissed him hungrily and eased herself down onto his slick, steel cock. He slid in and bottomed out with a damp clap of her ass cheeks around his balls, and they both groaned as quietly as they could as she began to ride him into the seat. Rick grabbed a palmful of her ass with one hand and reached down to rub her clit with the other. He found himself grinning up at her, admiring her perfect body in the dark as she ran her hands through his curly hair and latched on to his neck. She was beginning to learn how crazy and impulsive he could be when it came to her, and she indulged him. And he _loved_ her for it. He soon lost his smile and his eyes slipped shut as Michonne slowed down and rode him with steady, measured purpose. Her tight yet molten sex felt _so good_ he almost forgot where they were, what they were headed toward, what they'd just survived. He wanted this part of their life to last forever. "Mmm... _shit_...Michonne…"

Michonne made sure he stroked her deep inside, hitting her right where she wanted him, his thumb massaging her juicy clit with by now perfected eloquence. She could feel the white hot static electricity of a ferocious orgasm chasing Rick's deft thumb movements, oscillating from her sex upward through her abdomen at his behest. He watched it developing across her beautiful face, mesmerized. Her thick, sexy ass bounced in his grip, her wet pussy sliding up and down his shaft. He stroked her clit with both his fingers and the pulsing ridge of his cock, now guiding her thrusts with the hand holding her amazing ass - driving them both into a spiraling black hole of ecstasy.

After a short while of them losing themselves in each other, Michonne finally came, shuddering all around him, leaning forward to kiss him so she wouldn't make too much noise. Rick grabbed hold of her and held her in a death grip as he pumped now for release, uncaring of any noise they might make. Though the jolt and roll of the wheels on the somewhat uneven terrain helped to mask the sounds of their lovemaking, he longed for that chicken clucking, and he knew they could be caught at any second.

He didn't care... _holy fuck_ he didn't care at all as his orgasm blindsided him, so lost was he in the feel of her everywhere, trying to kiss and hold onto every inch of her. He came hot and thick inside her, briefly feeling smug that he'd found that box of condoms while he'd been stacking the crates back here.

When they'd calmed down and detangled themselves from one another, Rick helped her get dressed and cleaned himself up, guiltily tossing the condom out the window when she wasn't looking. He stood close to her while she shimmied into her jeans. She stood with her back to his front, the bump and sway of the camper sending her lovely curves crashing into his lean muscles every now and then as she got them done up and buckled her belt. He kissed her shoulder and the back of her neck, holding her hair aside, his scratchy stubble caressing her skin. He grinned, thinking: _Carol was right. I can't get enough of her and we just started. We survive an explosion and narrowly avoid being executed, and all I want to do is stay back here and make love to her all night. Damn. I love her._

When she was done he picked up his gun from inside the crate and holstered it. No one had disturbed them. Maybe they all knew better.

Rick pulled Michonne down next to him again after watching her crack open a window. He wrapped her in his arms, bringing one of her hands up to his lips to kiss a few times, sighing hard.

All Rick's life, he had been searching for someone to believe in him the way Michonne did. And since the death of the world, and her baby boy, Michonne hadn't even realized that she'd been searching for someone to believe in as much as she did Rick Grimes. They stared at each other in the back of the camper, their hands entwined, and let the remaining hour slip past them.

Rick was still watching a napping Michonne, curled up in the nook of his arm, when they pulled up to the gate of the safe zone.

* * *

The camper came to a rolling stop and Rick saw the headlights flickering their signal for friendlies.

He nuzzled Michonne's forehead, inhaling her scent. "We're home, Michonne…" he said against her skin, holding her closer for the remaining seconds they had left to stay like this. She stirred awake, yawning and nodding, squeezing his hand that she still held in hers. They counted the seconds, breathing each other in.

A light tap sounded on the flimsy covering that served as a door, and they both recognized it as Paul's. They gave each other a tender kiss on the lips and stood up, shaking off the last remnants of romantic euphoria, ready to go to work.

Rick slid the door open to reveal Paul standing in the hall, looking serious and wide awake. "I think something's up." He said, and the couple exchanged looks. They hadn't even left the camper yet, and it was starting already.

They were rolling slowly up the hill as Eugene pulled the gate closed behind them. Rosita was climbing down from the guard tower, holstering her gun so she could wave her flashlight at them.

Tobin and Aaron were also making their way over from their posts, watching the camper pulling along a small trailer weighed down with goods. Aaron was impressed. Of course, Rick had followed through and got them what they needed.

Inside the camper, Rick put on his jacket and opened the side door. He lowered himself down one step to lean out and speak with Rosita as they came to a rolling stop. "What is it?"

"Wolves. They attacked again this morning." The tough young woman said, her eyes staring up at him from under the rim of her ubiquitous army cap as she walked briskly along the side of the camper. Eugene followed close behind her. "Just a couple of 'em this time."

"Did they get anyone?" Rick grunted, hopping down from the steps as Abraham came to a slow stop, followed by Michonne and Glenn.

"Negative. Carl and Enid were on watch, but Rosita and myself - we were on our way to our shift - we intervened in time to neutralize the situation." Eugene informed him matter-of-factly. "Your son stabbed one of 'em seven times."

Rick and Michonne stopped short and turned to glare at Eugene. Rosita rolled her eyes. She really wished he would learn to stop parroting everything that popped into his mullet-covered head.

"Carl didn't have a choice." She murmured stiffly. "We saw it just as we got there. He was a big fucker, and he was crazy."

"It _was_ self defense. Apologies, I thought that was a given." Eugene agreed. "And it was most definitely badass."

"But he isn't _hurt?_ " Rick demanded, ignoring the complement, his eyes glinting.

"No he is not. He and Enid are with Judith up at your house." Eugene answered him, now eyeing the chicken crate on top of the camper. His eyes also finally took in Rick, Michonne, Glenn, an injured Daryl, and three strangers stepping off the camper. Well, four strangers. "You're back from the Hilltop with a lot of stuff. And people."

Abraham came around from the driver's side, his red hair standing out even in the dark, and walked toward Rosita to give her a hug. She allowed him, noticing that he wasn't acting as warm as usual, then stepped back to get a look at the newcomers. Maybe he was tense because something was up with this group and whatever they'd seen at the Hilltop place.

"What's going on?" Rosita raised her eyebrows at Jesus, who at least looked familiar but also dramatically different.

"What happened?" Aaron echoed from behind them, also noticing the state of Daryl and the new people among them.

Rick paused and sighed hard, gesturing for them all to gather around, resting his wrist against the handle of his _holstered_ Python. "We met with the Hilltop's leader, Murdock. Turns out, he's an old friend of Michonne's. We made a deal - that's how we got the food and supplies we brought back. He's good people, but he's got a problem." He sighed, looking around at them in turn. "We _all_ do. I need to talk with everyone about it, _tonight_." Rick informed the silent group as they stood around him in the street, his demeanor all business. He turned and his blue gaze fell on Rosita. "What happened with the Wolves?"

She sighed, crossing her arms. "Two of 'em got in through some tunnel _Aaron_ told us was overrun." Her clipped, accusatory tone flew toward Aaron right along with her eyes.

Aaron swallowed and stepped forward, the ugly bruise that kick to the jaw left making him look somewhat bulkier about the face. "That's true, it _was_ overrun the last time I went near it." He didn't divulge anymore, not wishing to break his promise to Maggie or drag her into unnecessary drama. "But we put watch posts there, and sealed it off. Or so we _thought_. We'd planned to clear it once we'd come back, me and Daryl."

"Yeah." Daryl rasped, now holding his wounded shoulder. "We did."

Aaron sighed. "We think...maybe those Wolves cleared it first."

"Did you kill them?" Rick asked now. Rosita and Aaron both nodded, followed by Eugene.

Their leader and protector gazed around at the group until his eyes landed on Michonne. He could see in her expression that she was thinking about the kids. "Everyone - we need to move fast. Jesus - whatever, _Paul_ \- take Daryl up to Denise's, would you? Abraham, Tony, let's get the camper up the hill to the pantry and unloaded. Glenn?"

"I'm on it," Glenn answered, walking backward up the hill, already knowing what he needed to do. They'd had the same realization in the camper on the way here. "The church in an hour." He called back as he went to gather the community for the emergency meeting.

Rick agreed, turning back to the group, taking Michonne's hand. "Rosita, Tobin, Aaron, get your subs and help Glenn let everyone know we're having a meeting at the church in an hour. It's _mandatory_. Then we'll unload until it's time. I'll be back in a bit."

"What about Heath? He's watching that sick one." Rosita remained, eyeballing the way Rick held Michonne's hand openly in front of everyone as they moved off to carry out his orders. Something had happened up on that Hilltop. She was going to see if she could get Abraham to tell her what, before the meeting.

Rick paused, holding Michonne's fingers loosely, wondering how Rosita knew about the Wolf. Figuring that it didn't matter anymore. They were about to go to war. "He needs to stay. We'll tell him later. Denise been patchin' that guy up?"

Rosita's eyes glinted. So they were going to talk to that Wolf they had locked up, finally. The one those other two had come for. She'd gotten Spencer to tell her that one when Carol acted all...Carol-y...after they were attacked. "Yeah. With Jessie."

"Good. We'll meet back at the church. I'll explain things then, I promise."

Rosita finally nodded her acquiescence. She watched Rick and Michonne saunter up the hill hand in hand. Yeah, they had a lot of explaining things to do, all right. The petite fighter unclipped her walkie to call for her substitute watchman, one of the original safe zone survivors who was coming along pretty well as a shooter. Abraham tried to sneak away back to the camper as she was informing the girl that she was needed at the guard tower. "Don't even _think_ about it." Her demanding voice stopped him in his tracks. "What happened up there? Tell me everything."

Rick noticed as they were making their way up the incline in the middle of the road that Michonne was walking funny. She wasn't quite limping, but her normal, graceful glide seemed slower and a little off-kilter. He fought off a prideful grin at the same time as he felt his temples flush with guilt.

"Hey." He squeezed her fingers. She met his gaze somewhat shyly. Her expression gave him another clue as to why she was walking like that. He allowed his grin to bloom as he let her go and backed up toward one of the parked cars. "Hang on, I'll drive us."

Michonne simply nodded and waited as he selected a car, driving up to where she was and leaning over to open the door for her. She climbed inside as Rick honked the horn.

"Come on' I'll drive y'all up the hill!"

Ben and Dana had been standing idly in the street, unsure if they should get back into the R.V. or deal with Rosita's questions. They noticed Rick and Michonne in the car ahead of them and immediately headed for it.

Rick waited until they both climbed into the back seat before driving on at a slow, steady roll. They saw Glenn had taken a car and was driving down a street leading toward Carol's house first. _Good_ , Rick thought. He looked up in the rearview mirror to see Ben and Dana gazing out through their opposite windows, taking in the rows and rows of nice houses, green trees, and normal-looking things spread about the suburban community. Even at night it looked almost pristine. It was surreal, to say the least.

"I know…" Rick scoffed, resting one hand on the wheel as he navigated the serene streets. He shook his head, his blue eyes taking it all in again, too. "It's a trip. I was just as skeptical when _we_ first got here."

"You came around." Michonne smiled next to him, reaching over to caress his hand resting in his lap.

He returned her loving gaze, nodding. "Yeah, funny how that happened." He drawled, grinning at her as he turned onto their street. "It was like somethin' knocked me over the head and told me to stop bein' an asshole."

Dana watched them, finding herself both uncomfortable and fascinated. She was beginning to think she could let her guard down around them, though she didn't want to just yet - she wanted to observe more. Ben was still looking around at the nice houses and neat, green lawns, but he squeezed her hand in his in the middle of the back seat. She returned his caress, but didn't look at him.

She studied Rick and Michonne, knowing that things wouldn't be like this for her and Ben again for some time. But she hoped it would, eventually. She loved him too much to believe otherwise.

* * *

Spencer woke up, wanting Jessie again.

He surprised her, but she gave in eagerly. After another quiet, though quite fun romp in her bed, he realized that he was going to be late for his watch shift if he didn't hurry. He wanted to take a shower and think about everything she'd said earlier before having to trudge over to the rear wall.

As he got dressed, he watched her lying there, her eyes closed. She wasn't asleep, he knew. Maybe just shy. He liked that. He knew she was kinky and in her "prime" as all the scientists used to say, before they all died. He knew she was kind of fucked up, but so was he. Everyone was. But he liked her.

He didn't mind Sam. He thought maybe he could even try to be a good influence on Sam. He didn't think Rick Grimes was the right influence at all. He didn't have anything against Michonne, she was beautiful, and kind enough, and as tough as anyone else in their group - but like Rick and the rest of them, she just didn't understand. They looked down on folks like Spencer and Jessie. Folks like his parents.

His parents, whom he'd lost since they showed up with a whole troupe of killers. There were smarter ways to get by in this world than killing. He was determined to prove that. Jessie seemed like she agreed.

She actually had fallen back asleep as he pulled on his boots and laced them up. He kissed her on her bare shoulder and slipped downstairs quietly, hoping he wouldn't wake the boy. But Sam was listening to music in his room, Spencer could her. Jessie had said he did that all night sometimes. She had also said he was getting better. He decided to leave well enough alone as he walked through the house.

The last living Monroe walked carefully, quietly toward Jessie's front door and slipped through it, closing it behind him with a faint _click_. The house remained still under the melodic echo of Sam's record player as the heavy dark of evening began to blanket the sky outside.

Spencer lumbered down the porch steps as the crickets were starting to kick up, and was almost blinded by headlights a second later. It was Rick, who slowed down in front of Jessie's house to roll down the driver's side window as the younger man made it to the street.

There was an unreadable look on Rick's face as Spencer noticed, even in the dark, that his blue eyes were taking note of his appearance. And the fact that he was emerging from Jessie Anderson's house looking the way he did. Like he'd just had sex. A lot of it. Spencer stood a little taller, shifting on his feet, his eyes moving from Rick to Michonne to the two young strangers in the back seat.

"You're back. Who's this?" He gestured to the two in the back, now turning to Rick again.

Rick leaned out of the window, his arm hanging slightly over the side. He spoke gravely but calmly, ignoring the situation to get to more urgent shit. In truth, he was slightly relieved to see Spencer coming out of Jessie's house. He didn't think on it any further. "They're from the Hilltop. We got things to discuss. There's a mandatory meeting at the church in an hour." Rick gestured toward Jessie's house, his expression still serious. "Could you get Jessie and anyone else you run into down there for me?"

"Sure." Spencer nodded, wanting to ask more questions. Instead he lifted his chin and cleared his throat. "We stopped a Wolf attack this morning. We _do_ need to discuss some things. Carol got that Wolf she hid to talk, but not much."

"Let me guess." Rick stared at him, as did everyone in the car. "They're not the only ones we should worry about?"

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head. Of course. The domineering man couldn't even let him have this. "Yeah. Pretty much."

"I know. We'll discuss all that, at the church. One hour."

Rick nodded to end the conversation and eased the car along up the hill toward his house, eager to see his son and baby girl. He could see Michonne already preparing to get out of the car - she missed and was worried about the kids, too, even though they both knew Carl would take care of himself. Eugene had definitely confirmed it with his fanboy behavior at the gate.

"Who was that?" Dana asked, watching Spencer turn to jog back up to the house he'd been leaving.

"One of the leaders here." Their host replied, not sounding too enthusiastic about it. "You'll meet the others soon enough."

The car came to a stop in front of another house, this one with a bigger porch swing. Dana wanted to ask where she and Ben fit into all of this, but she didn't have to.

"Come on inside, we'll talk for a bit." Rick said to her and Ben as they climbed out of the car. "I need to ask you more questions about Negan and his people."

"Sure." Ben agreed, still looking around. He had plenty to say about them. "You've got a nice setup here."

"Thanks." Michonne responded, smiling back at him as she climbed up the porch steps. Rick followed, Ben and Dana taking up the rear. "We almost lost it. A big herd came through here. But we're gonna recover, thanks to Murdock - thanks to _you_."

Ben and Dana awkwardly accepted her gratitude as they walked into the house, finding it quiet and still. There was a lamp on in the living room. Everyone moved carefully, Rick shedding his jacket and Michonne her sword. The Hilltop members hovered behind them as they walked through the house to discover Carl and Enid asleep on the couch with the baby monitor on the coffee table. The lamp illuminated the young couple in a warm orange glow. Enid was curled up on top of Carl, wrapped up in his arms. Carl lay on his back with his hat partially covering his face, his mouth slightly open. They looked a little dirty - there was a small red scratch on Carl's cheek, and Enid's knuckles and fingers were raw-looking and caked in dirt. There was dried, dark blood staining some spots on Carl's jeans, plus the bottom corner, and the ripped elbow of his plaid overshirt.

The boy's gun and bowie knife (which was also stained with semi fresh, dark blood) sat on the table next to the couch.

Rick sighed with quiet relief, stepping forward to sit at the edge of the coffee table, facing the group of silent adults. He rubbed his eyes and turned his head to gaze at his son, alive and resting, having yet again fought for his life and the lives of his community in his father's absence.

Rick sat forward, leaning on his legs as Michonne gazed over at them. "Hey." He uttered softly from his perch. "Carl? Wake up, son."

Ben watched Rick reach over to stroke his son's hair, and felt a strong rush of envy grip him. His father was long gone. He was a diabetic and he was the first of Ben's family to die when hell froze over and reanimated the dead. Then his extended family, as far as he knew, in one fell swoop when they started bombing whole cities. Then his mother. Then his brother. He was the last one left.

On the couch, Carl opened his eyes as Enid stirred and shrank back from the sight of the new people. They both sat up, shaking off their slumber. Carl repositioned his hat and lifted his steel blue eyes to the strangers in his house, then Michonne, before sitting up to turn and face his dad. Rick wrapped the boy up in a hug, squeezing his neck and clapping him on the back with pride and relief.

"I'm okay, Dad. We're both okay and so is Judith." Carl murmured into his father's shoulder. He swallowed hard as he admitted: "I had to...stab one of 'em. A few times. He didn't go down easy."

"I know. I heard what happened," Rick drawled, releasing Carl. "It's okay. You did what you had to." He reached over and patted Enid reassuringly on the leg. She offered him a small, appreciative smile before her eyes, too, rose to take in the strangers standing there, watching them.

Carl stood up and embraced Michonne, letting her kiss his cheek a few times with relief that he was okay. After acknowledging her affection and squeezing her tightly in answer, Carl again looked over at the two new guys in their midst. He nodded at them, but didn't offer any other greeting.

Ben and Dana, Enid and Carl, sized each other up. Ben returned Carl's nod, understanding right away that the kid wasn't _really_ a kid. He looked young, but there was a damn near _ancient_ soul behind his eyes. Dana and Enid may as well have been mirrors of each other, only one was a little older and a little more haunted-looking.

"This is Ben and Dana - they're from the Hilltop." Rick broke the tense silence, answering their unspoken question as he stood up too and gestured to their guests.

Carl and Enid exchanged looks, and Carl finally greeted them verbally. "Hello. I'm Carl. That's Enid."

"Nice to meet you." Dana offered. Ben gave an awkward salute of a wave to them both.

Michonne examined Carl for a moment more, making sure he was indeed okay, and then left Rick to handle the rest - heading upstairs and see about Judith. Judging from the monitor, the child was napping but she wanted to check on her anyway. She had missed the little one.

"I'm glad you're both okay, son." Rick said, taking his eyes away from Michonne's retreating form. "But now we got somethin' to talk about. Somethin' big."

Carl assessed his father's serious demeanor and nodded, sighing hard. "We're ready. We've been waiting."


	15. family ties, part i

_where you been hidin' lately_

 _where you been hidin' from the news?_

' _cause we been fightin' lately_

 _yeah, we been fightin' with the wolves_

 _we lost faith, oh, in the arms of love_

-'The Wolves', Ben Howard

* * *

 _(Near dawn, that morning...)_

Carl was leaning against the dirt and cement wall facing the slightly ajar latch to his little cubby hole, hunkered down into the watch post he was manning tonight. His rifle was leaned next to his hunched frame.

When he wasn't dozing in and out of semi sleep, he'd peek out, look around.

But he heard nothing. Saw nothing.

It was a little chilly, as it always was in this area in the predawn hours, unlike where his father was, some big number of miles south. He wondered what they were doing, what they were discovering. He couldn't _help_ but wonder. If they'd been tricked and had to fight their way out, like at Terminus. Or if this Murdock guy actually turned out to be trustworthy.

The teenaged Grimes found himself hoping, though, that Michonne was right, yet again, and they'd made a good deal. That his dad and Michonne were having a good time, somehow, and that they'd be back soon with food like Jesus promised. They needed some good news, after all they'd been through trying to make things work here. He was just glad that at least, they had finally admitted their feelings for each other and they were gonna do this together. _Really_ _together_. Like it should be.

But he also knew, as with everything, it couldn't be that simple.

Carl heard a noise above him, and crouched down, on alert. They were footsteps. He gathered his rifle and got into position, his heart pounding. He waited, and then he noticed a pair of familiar, scruffy black Converse.

It was Enid.

She rooted around until she finally spotted the opening to the hidden hole and then kicked the latch lightly, substituting the motion for a knock. He smirked, contemplating pretending to be asleep and not answering. But then she crouched down and peered into the dark little crack in the grass, catching sight of him in the faint moonlight. "Let me in, asshole."

"What's the password?"

"Fuck you?"

"Good enough." Carl's smirk developed into a full grin and he reached up to push against the hidden door for her. He yawned, stepping back as she shimmied her way down inside. There was little space, and it was only just tall enough to stoop, so they were pretty cramped. But Carl didn't mind. Neither did Enid.

"It smells like dirt and ass in here…" she remarked as she landed.

"Yeah yeah, quit your complaining."

"Fine."

"How's Jude?" He asked softly, watching her attempt to get into a comfortable position without getting too close to him unnecessarily. It was a wonder to him that she was suddenly so shy around him sometimes. It made him wonder if he wasn't being clear enough about his feelings for her.

She met his eyes finally in the dark, crouched against the opposite wall. "She's fine. With Old Lady Carol now." She scoffed, giving an empathetic smile. "Kid's exhausting. Really, smart, you know? I almost felt like she was babysitting _me_."

They both laughed quietly, their breath misting before them. Carl reached over for her hand and gave it a tug, pulling her gently toward him. She came willingly, and he put down his gun at his side again so he could hold her in a loose embrace at her waist. "Thanks for lookin' after her."

Enid got shy again. "Sure, no problem." She reached up to fiddle with his shirt collar. "Thanks for staying back and looking after _me_."

"I'll always be here for you, you know that, right?" He whispered urgently, giving her hip a squeeze.

She nodded, staring into his moonstone eyes. She believed him. But still, she resisted. "Yeah, but...you can't really _promise_ that."

He considered her. Adjusting his hat, Carl turned her around and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. He pointed upward through the tiny sliver of an opening in their hole at the sky, where some clouds were passing over a disappearing full moon. Dawn was coming, but the night was still clinging to the deep.

"See that moon?"

Enid smirked. His accent was coming through a little stronger, now. And his voice was a little deeper. He was tired, she could tell. She played along, nodding and leaning against him. He was lanky, but sturdy. "Yeah, emo, what about it?"

He ignored her teasing. He kinda liked it, truth be told.

"My dad used to say there aren't many things you can count on in life, except a full moon. Every month like clockwork." He gazed up at it, nuzzling her soft hair. "And just like that full moon, I could count on _him_ , doing everything he can to protect me, to keep me alive, even if he has to die for it." Carl thought he understood more about his father now than ever, having fought so hard and lost so much so he and his children could survive. "Until his dying breath, he said. I could count on that, just like a full moon."

Enid felt goosebumps dance their way across her skin as Carl spoke. Yeah, he was sentimental, but she loved it. She loved _him_.

He continued: "You can count on _me_ like that, Enid. Until I'm not alive anymore. Maybe even after, too. I want the same for Judith and Sam. I wanna teach you stuff you can use to protect yourself when I'm not around. Not just guns. Other stuff. Like my dad taught me. Like Michonne does. And Glenn. Even Carol. That's why we're a family. We choose it. To survive." Came his soft, serious whisper into her hair. She listened to him. She felt like it was story time. He sounded far wiser than his years. His hat hung low, shading them both from the waning moonlight as he hugged her to him in the frigid predawn. "It's kinda corny, but...that's all I'm tryin' to say. Okay?"

She nodded, somewhat sluggish with butterflies in her stomach and a flush to her cheeks despite the chill in the air. "Okay." Enid turned slightly and looked up at him as a procession of clouds passed over the moon again. "Me too."

"I love you."

He was serious. Her heart did a soaring leap and began to pound away. "I love you, too, weirdo."

"Shut up." He kissed her. She didn't resist.

And that's when they heard it. More footsteps above them.

Both of them froze, listening to the silence. They knew the hole was pretty unnoticeable unless you were actively looking; unless you knew where to look, or what you were looking for. They waited. The footsteps sounded again. They were moving too slowly, too cautiously, to be anyone they knew coming to talk to them or relieve Carl. They weren't walker steps either. Walkers shuffled, stumbled, and they made noise. These were intruders, and they were moving with careful, vigilant intent.

Carl released Enid and reached for his gun, motioning for her to keep as quiet as she could with a finger to his lips. She nodded, and the footsteps sounded again, getting closer. Much too close for Carl's liking.

His heart pounded in his chest as he crouched down, prepared to aim and shoot anyone that crossed his line of sight. Enid stooped behind him, drawing out her small handgun that he'd given her to train with. She wasn't a great shot yet, but she could make due and startle or wound someone if she had to.

She eyed Carl's radio clipped to his belt, wanting to somehow call for help without being caught by someone. But she focused on the task at hand: finding out who the fuck was lurking around out there.

They waited, and no one appeared. No more footsteps sounded. Carl stopped breathing, watching, waiting, listening. His gun was aimed and his mind was focused on killing whomever it was trying to ambush them.

When they heard nothing, Carl cautiously, silently stepped forward and widened the opening a bit more so he could see. Enid panicked and latched onto his shirt, a bad feeling icing through her veins. Carl paused, acknowledging her unease, but kept on, carefully standing up straighter to peer out into the darkness.

They were facing the wall, where he could see the names of the ones they'd lost in large, black letters.

He scanned the area of the back end of the neighborhood that he could see from his vantage point. He saw nothing. No one.

Suddenly, something pounded down _hard_ on the hidden door above them, shutting out the faint light and knocking Carl on the head. The force of it sent him flying back in the cramped space. He hit the dirt and concrete behind him hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Enid screamed and went to catch him.

The hidden door flew open again and angry, strong hands caught hold of them both, snatching them upward and dragging them out of the earth.

Enid tried to scream again but a dirty, clawing hand clamped down hard over her mouth, dragging her kicking and thrashing away from Carl toward one of the abandoned houses across the road. She lifted her gun and tried to fire into the air, but the man that held her caught hold of her arm, nearly breaking it to get her to release the gun. She dropped it; the pain was too great and she felt sick with the momentary fear that he _was_ going to break her arm.

She saw what had crashed down onto the latch door - a heavy, still charred black boulder from the bank of the scorched pond nearby. It was now laying in the grass where Carl was being dragged to his feet by another of them. And by the 'W' carved into his forehead and the crazed look in the dark figure's glinting eyes, it could only be one group coming to attack them. Enid recognized that look, and that 'W'. These were Wolves.

Panic threatened to rise inside her, but she realized as she watched Carl being hauled to his feet - they weren't armed.

Enid began to fight again, trying to scratch her captor's eyes, bite his fingers, kick his shins - anything she could think of to get away and get to her gun. It was somewhere in the grass!

Carl came to and heard Enid struggling for her life somewhere nearby. Rage boiled inside him as he realized what was happening, and he began to fight at the same time as his eyes darted around to find her. "Oh no the fuck you _don't_ , you little shit!" The man holding him growled, wrapping him in an instantly painful headlock. "Now you take us to Owen _right now_ , or I break your scrawny neck and fuck your little bitch!"

"Fu...ck...y-you…!" Carl began to lose his breath, his hat falling to the ground and his legs buckling from under him.

"Suit yourself, kid. This little piggy's gonna squeal!" The other one rasped and giggled insanely as Carl gagged and struggled. He was enraged. He couldn't see her but he could hear Enid being tossed around, slapped, god knew what else. He heard fabric ripping, he heard her screaming again.

But no gunshots. No stabbing or sounds of real pain. The intruders weren't armed. He and Enid had a chance.

Carl gurgled and spit, his face red as a beet, his hair in his eyes, as he reached down with all his might for his bowie knife. The maniac that had hold of him was trying to choke him to death, and Enid was going to be violated if he couldn't do something. With strength he didn't know he could summon, Carl ripped his giant knife out of its sheath, raised his arm and stabbed down into the bastard's leg.

The Wolf choking him cried out and let go. Suddenly shots rang out - zinging past their heads as Carl fell to his knees. He gasped for air as best he could, but the big fucker was on top of him again, pulling his hair back with painful force. As they struggled, the intruder was shot in the arm, but he still didn't go down. His momentary distraction gave Carl his only opportunity to headbutt the fuck out of him, however. The vicious kid shook off the resulting dizziness and found himself at an advantage.

The shots continued as the young Grimes raised his knife again and stabbed - and stabbed - and stabbed, and stabbed again. And again. And again. Then he slashed the intruder's throat.

Spencer, Rosita, and Eugene were running toward them across the street and short expanse of grass field, guns drawn. They'd been engaged in a gunfight with the other Wolf, who had managed to get at Enid's weapon and attempted to use her as a human shield.

Carl watched the life leave _his_ Wolf's eyes before he raised his knife and brought it down hard into his skull, right between the 'W'.

Eugene and Spencer slowed down, gaping at him in horror and awe as he rose shakily to his feet. Rosita continued toward Enid and the now downed Wolf that had been hit in the neck by one of her bullets.

Ignoring both Spencer and Eugene, Carl wiped his knife on his jeans before sheathing it. He turned to head for Enid. She sat on her butt next to the bleeding, dying Wolf that she'd had to fight tooth and nail. The arm of her shirt was nearly ripped off, but that was it. She wasn't shot or otherwise wounded, as far as he could tell. Thank god.

Enid was shaking like a leaf but she got it under control as she watched a blood-splattered Carl approach her.

Rosita stood over the big greasy monster that attacked Enid, aiming her gun at his skull. After briefly examining the one Carl had stabbed to death, Spencer and Eugene caught up to them in the dark. Carl knelt down and took hold of Enid, pulling her up into his arms.

The Wolf on the ground gurgled on his own blood and glared up at them, slowly bleeding out from his neck wound. "N-Ne…" he struggled, still glaring. "Nnn…." his eyes went dark and he exhaled his last breath before he could finish.

Rosita shot him in the head so he wouldn't turn.

Someone had most likely heard the gunshots, maybe even a few walkers. And there might be more Wolves on the prowl. They couldn't stand here all night.

Spencer knelt down, staring at the Wolf, anger beginning to rise inside him. "Check the wall, search the perimeter. Keep your eyes peeled on your way. Kill any of _them_ you see on sight." He said sternly, causing Rosita to eye him as she checked her gun for remaining ammo.

"What, kill them all?" She squinted at him from under her hat. "I agree, they deserve to be executed, but they don't look like they're armed, and we need answers. How the _fuck_ did they get in here again?"

"I'll get us answers..." Spencer said cryptically, still staring at the dead Wolf on the ground by his side. After a beat in which they all exchanged looks, then stared down at him, Spencer snapped out of his bitter thoughts. He turned to glare up at Rosita for her hesitation. "Did you hear what I said? I'm this community's leader, whether Rick is here or not. Now there may be more of them. Move!"

He stood up, towering over her. Rosita glared at him but nodded, clenching her jaw. She turned and jerked her head at Eugene, who was still surveying the scene. "Let's go."

They took off after one last lingering glance at the kids.

"You two should go home." Spencer addressed Carl and Enid now.

"Where are _you_ going?" Carl watched him shrewdly, ignoring his order.

Spencer waited until Rosita and Eugene had made it out of earshot and shook his head. " _Someone_ needs to find out what the hell they want, and give it to them so they'll leave us alone."

"My dad told you not to go near that Wolf." Carl ignored his excuses, remembering the rundown his father had given him of what he expected while he was gone. "And they don't want anything. Just to kill."

"Go home, Carl. Protect your girlfriend, she looks like she's in shock." Spencer began to walk away from them, and he called back, shrugging as he pulled his gun again. "Or go make sure the walls are secure, be my guest. Your dad's traps don't seem to be working too well."

Carl and Enid watched him jog away. After a few moments in which they listened to the community wake up and mount a hunt for any other Wolves, he looked down to her. "Let's go to Carol's. She needs to know what Spencer's doing. Are you okay to move? I'll be right here."

Enid stood silent for a moment, but then she blinked and her eyes hardened. "Yeah. I'm fine. Let's go." She let go of him and knelt down, ignoring the dead Wolf and grabbing her gun.

Then she took his hand and followed him. Carl stooped to grab his hat, easing it back onto his head. They kept their eyes peeled as they made their way to Carol's little blue house.

* * *

 _(The previous morning...)_

Jessie stood in Sam's doorway, her arms folded, watching him hang up a dart board that used to belong to his father. She couldn't help just watching him, marveling at the progress Carl had managed to make with her traumatized child in the short time that she'd been gone.

It both thrilled and frightened her.

Being around Carl had inspired Sam to _try_. Jessie shook her head silently with mystification, her ponytail swinging. She watched Sam position the dart board on the nail he'd hammered himself. He squinted and stuck his tongue out until he got it at the level he wanted, making sure it was at the right angle. Then he stepped back and surveyed his progress.

"Whatcha doin', bud?" she called softly, frowning with curiosity and hope.

He turned to her, a serious but light expression on his innocent face. "I wanna practice my aim a bit more before me and Carl train with the bow again." He said somewhat matter-of-factly.

Jessie let out a happy, absurd chuckle, fighting back tears. She recovered quickly and nodded, standing up straight and walking further into the room. "That's great, Sam." She stood over him and ruffled his hair. "Just try not to poke your eye out, okay?"

"I'm not six years old, Mom." He rolled his eyes. "Carl said if I worked at this...then maybe I can hang out with him at the wall sometime." He saw the shocked look on her face and hastily added: "When it's safe, though! Like during the day or something."

"Well…" Jessie was stunned and so hopeful she could burst, but she wasn't ready for her son to be so close to potential danger. They needed to take this slowly. The last thing she wanted was for something to happen to him, or for him to regress. She didn't know if either of them could handle another frightening trigger. They might not come back from it. "Let's just...take it slow, bud, okay?"

He looked slightly disappointed, but she saw him thinking about it. "Okay, Mom."

She had forgotten - her son used to be sharp, and curious. Her Sam was coming back to her.

"Thanks, Sam." She knelt before him and looked him in the eyes. "You know I'm so proud of you, right? And I'm really happy you're gonna train with Carl." She stroked his cheek and squeezed his shoulders. "He's a good guy."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, Carl's pretty cool. Did you know he ate dog food once!?" His eyes jumped to life. "He says they even had to _cook a dog_ before they came here."

Jessie laughed and felt her stomach lurch at the very idea of it. "Gross."

"I think it's _cool_. He's tough. Hey, what happened at the meeting?" Sam switched gears in the next breath. "Did you get a job?"

Jessie had opened her mouth to tell him, but Carol's voice sounded out from downstairs. "Jessie? You here?"

Jessie frowned and stood up, gesturing before leaving for Sam to stay put.

When Jessie had left the room, Sam's eyes drifted from the empty space that she used to occupy to the corner by the window. His brother Ron was standing there, looking as dark and frightening as ever in the cascading sunrays that passed over him and through him.

He grinned, a leering shadow figure, causing Sam's heartbeat to quicken and thump painfully in his chest. But the younger boy stood his ground, swallowing hard.

 _So I'm dead a couple of months and you find a new big brother? Not cool, Sam. I_ _ **got eaten**_ _to save you. Remember?_

Sam shook his head. "I remember...but...Mom says we have to get better. Carl is gonna help me."

 _We'll see about that, lil' bro._

Sam decided to ignore Ron's ghost. To ignore his fear. For now. He wanted to practice. For Carl. For his mom. And to prove the intimidating apparition haunting him wrong.

Jessie stepped quickly down the hall and jogged down the stairs, pausing at the last couple of steps when she saw Carol and Enid standing in her foyer with Judith.

"Door was unlocked." Carol said. She was carrying a basket and a machete. Enid stood next to her holding Rick's daughter, watching with curiosity. Carol jerked her head toward the wide open door behind her as Jessie slowly stepped down from the stairs. "Training starts now. Enid can watch Sam and Judith."

Enid didn't exactly look like she had signed up for the gig. But she shrugged and nodded. "Sure. Carl's on watch so I got nothing to do 'til noon."

Carol turned and headed for the door. "Good. Thanks. Let's go, Jessie."

Jessie caught Enid rolling her eyes as she turned to take Judith into the kitchen. She briefly wondered why Carol was so icy with that girl, but her new mentor was already making her way down the porch steps.

"Uh, just tell Sam I'll be back in a bit? Thanks, Enid!"

"No prob. See ya later. If the old lady doesn't sass you to death..." Enid joked sarcastically as Jessie raced to catch up with Carol, closing the front door behind her.

"Hey, where are we going?" She demanded as she finally started matching the older woman's stride. Carol held out the machete to Jessie. "What's this for?" Jessie breathed, taking hold of it. It was heavy. And _huge_.

"This morning we are baking." Carol said, her voice oddly cheery as they made their way around a corner and down the slight hill. "But the main ingredients we need are beyond the walls."

At the sound of that, Jessie's heart clenched. She stopped, feeling her legs suddenly get heavier. "Wait. What? _Now?_ I-I should be going to see Denise, right?"

Carol stopped and turned around. She stood there and stared at Jessie from her distance a few steps away. Her usually stern eyes were patient this time. "You'll get to Denise, don't worry. But I wanted to bake some cookies for everyone, and you need training. So…" She shrugged, breaking into a somewhat amused smile. "Two birds, one machete. Don't worry, I have my a gun. Let's go, day's a-wastin'."

Carol waited a beat before slowly turning around again. She started up her brisk walk down toward the wall. She kept her back turned, knowing that Jessie would follow. The weak woman had no choice if any of this was going to work.

She could see that Jessie was slightly terrified. But she would get over that soon enough. Sometimes the best thing to overcome one's fear was a good shock to the system. Just as Jessie had learned during the Wolf attack that sometimes the only way to become a killer was to be forced to kill or die. This was what they both wanted. For different reasons.

Jessie swallowed and tried to get ahold of her nerves. She had managed to keep it together when they had been surrounded by hundreds of them, the walking dead. But then her Sam had gotten so frightened, and she'd had to watch Rick kill Ron. Those things took her baby away from her. Jessie felt anger churn inside her. _Rick_ took her baby away from her. It was a mercy killing, but the loss of Ron still cut her deeply.

She _had_ to get better. She didn't want to lose her other, now her only, son. She didn't want Carol to be right about her.

Jessie took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the machete handle. Her palm was sweaty, but she gripped it harder. Without another word of protest, she followed Carol down the hill in the warming sunlight.

* * *

 _(Closer to the present…)_

Rick stood on the pulpit in the warm little church, gazing out at the gathering of Alexandria Safe Zone residents, his wrist resting against the handle of his holstered gun.

They were about to vote. Rick hoped the vote was in his favor. In favor of war.

He'd gathered everyone who wasn't a backup on the walls and explained things as plainly as he could. They had to be proactive - they had to kill, to survive. Could the residents of this town handle what they would now have to carry out and endure? Could they follow Rick's lead without question, to ensure the future of this place? There was a thick cloud of tension coating the air as he spoke, his accent delivering his message in a slow, lilting cadence.

"We only have a few days before Negan and his people come lookin' for us. We have to move _now_. This is the only way to be as sure as we can get that we _win_." He made his case, then reminded them: "We _have_ to win. It's how we keep this place. It's how we _feed_ this place."

He had thought, more than once, about how Morgan would feel about this. He knew his friend would not take any of this lightly. It would challenge everything he had become. But there was nothing Rick could do to change their situation. His eyes drifted to find Michonne. She sat in the front with Glenn, gazing at him with nothing but love, support, and determination. It gave him the confidence to put his still raw grief over Morgan away and keep going.

"But this needs to be a group decision. If anybody objects...now's your chance to say your peace."

Spencer stood in the back, watching, looking mutinous. He had said nothing this entire time. Until now, of course.

"Why don't we talk about the Wolf we have hostage?" He crossed his arms, meeting Rick's gaze head on. Everyone audibly grappled with this news hitting the open air. Most of the residents turned to listen to him, including Jessie, who was standing against the wall by a window with her arms around Sam's shoulders. "The one those other two came for this morning."

Rick squinted at Spencer, his boots shifting across the wood and thin carpet flooring of the pulpit. There was very little he had planned to say about The Wolves. Rick flexed the fingers of the hand resting against his gun handle, gathering his patience. "What about him?" he challenged, coolly.

Spencer stood up straight from his leaning position, his stance somewhat combative. "Those Wolves waited, and watched, just like you said they did last time, to get to _him_. They _beat_ your defenses, Rick. And that was just two of 'em. We're already stretched thin enough as it is." The young, headstrong politician's son argued in a low, passionate voice. Jessie watched him, surprised that he had the audacity to stand up to Rick and yet finding herself agreeing. "So while you take _all of our best fighters_ to commit mass murder, who's gonna protect this place from more attacks?"

"Have you been listening to anything he said?" Carol said softly, frowning at him like a stern mother would a potty mouthed son. Though there was something much colder in this particular look of disapproval.

Spencer ignored her, watching Rick. "You're not thinking this through, Rick. You're risking all our lives because you think slaughtering them is the only way."

 _So you_ _ **haven't**_ _been,_ Carol thought to herself, her eyes switching from Spencer's stubborn face to Rick's.

"This _is_ the only way." Rick growled, visibly struggling to be patient. "We don't take chances, not with people like Negan. That's been true from Day One, you knew that when you signed me up for this."

Everyone hung on their words. Carol, Michonne, and Glenn all gave each other looks of recognition. Ben, Dana, Carl, and Enid were lined up along the wall in the back on the opposite side of the church from Spencer. Carl held Judith, and all heads turned his way, then toward the front where Carl's father stood, absorbing the argument playing out before them. Paul stood a little ways off to the side of the pulpit with Tony, watching, assessing. They were all thinking pretty much the same thing.

The standoff between Rick and Spencer was in danger of boiling over. This joint leadership agreement was quickly turning sour, and the more stress the community was under to protect itself, the more these two were bound to clash.

Rick sighed hard and looked up at Michonne again. She and Glenn, who were sitting next to each other in the front pulpit, nodded their support. Okay. He could get through this without a mess if he could be just a little more diplomatic. Fine. "That Wolf we have hostage?" He offered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "He knows Negan's operation. And we have somethin' he needs. So we're gonna trade. " Rick sniffed and shrugged, eyeing Spencer expectantly. "I didn't even have to torture 'im."

There was yet more audible reaction to this development. Rick let it pass, and soon the questions started.

"Wait - we're _working_ with those maniacs, now?" Tara muttered, her bewildered eyes drifting around at her friends' faces to gauge their reactions. Denise was down at that brownstone with him and Heath, changing his I.V. Tara didn't like this. Any of this.

"Rick...is that a good idea?" Aaron asked cautiously.

"It's gonna get us intel we wouldn't have otherwise." Rick offered in answer.

"Not to mention the numbers we _will_ need." Paul interrupted, stepping forward finally, coming to stand next to Rick at the pulpit. "Everyone, please." The murmur quieted down and Paul began to level with the Alexandrians. "Rick is absolutely right. My community has seen what Negan's people will do. It's nothing you _ever_ want to witness firsthand. And _you're_ right, Spencer." His gaze rose to meet their dissenter's. "The Wolves are careful. They watch, and they wait. They know more about what goes on across these lands than any of us. Now we have one, willing to work with us, and if we know what he knows - we'll beat Negan before he has a chance to destroy Alexandria the way he destroyed the Hilltop." He wandered from face to face, making sure they could see his sincerity. "And the community at the cape. And in Washington. And who knows how many more."

"If we have the numbers, we can beat them." Rick chimed in with a throaty drawl.

"Where are we gonna get those kind of numbers?" Sasha wanted to know now.

"We're going to recruit the other communities to help us fight. The Hilltop is with you. What's left of the Wolves will be, too, we'll make sure of it." Paul reassured her, and them all.

"Then the others. Then we fight." Rick finished for him.

"You're all crazy." Spencer grit through clenched teeth. Carol had just about had enough of him. No, the plan wasn't airtight, but it was the best shot they had.

"What does that mean, Rick?" Jessie piped up, holding Sam tightly against her. "Are we starting some kind of war?"

"That's _exactly_ what he means." Her new boyfriend accused, glaring at Rick. "This is not what we signed up for. Not what Maggie promised me."

"You knew we might have to do hard shit to keep this place safe, man." Glenn defended himself, heated that Spencer was dragging Maggie's word while she wasn't around to set him straight. "Maggie never mislead you about that and neither did I." He stood up and faced the pews full of anxious residents. "Neither did Michonne. Or Rick. We never lied to any of you about what we do, how we survive. You want to keep this place? _This_ is the plan. We need to take a vote. Now."

"Or you can let Spencer figure it out and fend for yourselves." Michonne added, standing next to him, her eyes locked on their challenger against the wall across the room.

Everyone looked from Rick's group to Spencer's lonely battalion of one. It didn't appear to be even close.

"I'm...with Rick." Aaron stood up, looking determined. "I'll fight. We need to protect this place. _I_ need to protect this place." He looked around the room.

"You _know_ we're in." Sasha agreed, and with her Daryl. One by one, Rick's family voted in favor of his plan to attack first, and _keep_ attacking, until the war was won. Carol stood up and agreed last. Jessie saw her and knew that this was her chance to prove herself to them all. To step up and be more than a coward. Clinging to Sam, Jessie uttered her support. She avoided Spencer's eyes. She hated splitting from him this way, but he would just have to understand. She was doing this for her son.

But still, part of her agreed with him about one thing, at least. She gathered her courage and let her eyes meet Rick's. He looked slightly forbidding in general, thanks to Spencer, but she lumbered on. "What about numbers? You said we need more fighters."

She saw cold recognition flash inside his prismatic blues for a second before he sighed and nodded. He knew she was still hoping to be granted more of what she considered an active role in all this. But he couldn't concentrate on her drama now.

Rick gestured to Paul and Michonne. "Michonne and Paul are comin' up with a plan to seek alliances with the other communities." Came his serious drawl. He shifted on his feet again, and everyone could tell he was fatigued of this. He was a man of action, not a bunch of talking. "There are more weapons out there. More _survivors_. More victims of Negan's. Waitin' for a chance."

"This is going to be a _fight_." Michonne took over for him. His gaze drifted toward her gratefully, and their eyes met. He swallowed hard. Everyone in the room could see plainly how in sync they were, how Michonne's words were almost indistinguishable from what Rick might say, but with her own passion. "It's one we can't avoid, but it's also one we can _win_." Her serious eyes scanned each pensive face, remembering Murdock's words to her. Paul and Rick and the others stood watching her, spellbound by her righteous, even real demeanor. "If you're not a fighter, you will be protected. If you are...get some sleep. Think about what you're fighting for. This is bigger than us. This is the future."

Silence fell heavy and grim across the room.

"Do you want it to be one where you spend every single day terrified to step outside your door?"

The leaders let Michonne's words settled over the Safe Zone residents before Glenn brought the meeting to a close. "We strike out for weapons first. If you're in, meet down by the gate a few hours before dawn."

Slowly, the gathering of beleaguered residents began to stand and file glumly toward the back of the small church.

Glenn, Michonne, Paul, Tony, Daryl and Rick remained, watching them leave. Carl looked back at his father, who stood standing with his hands on his hips on the pulpit. Rick nodded that he would catch up with his son later. Carl looked disappointed, but obediently held Judith close to him as he led Enid out of the church behind Dana and Ben.

Rick knew that Carol was probably putting on as many faces as she needed to in order to gauge how the community was really reacting to all this before she joined them.

Paul turned to raise an eyebrow at Rick. "I am _dying_ to know how we'll convince that Wolf to give us all of that."

Michonne, too, turned around to face her lover with Glenn and the others, crossing her arms as Paul called Rick's surprising and bold bluff. "Rick. Are you sure about this?"

Rick scoffed and shook his head. "No." He admitted as they all gathered around him at the pulpit. "But either way - we _do_ have somethin' he wants, according to Carol."

He met Michonne's gaze again, and she realized he was talking about what Carl had told them earlier. About Carol's little visit with their tourist, Owen. "He has a sister. And Negan has her."

Glenn gaped at first Michonne and then Rick.

Paul merely smiled, impressed. "Let me guess. Another body for his harem?"

"Exactly. Owen may be a piece o'shit pshycopath, but he's still got family ties." Rick drawled, already stalking from the pulpit to go get them what they needed to make what he'd told the congregation true. "And I'm hopin' he's sick enough to make his sister the kinda bait we need…"

He picked up his jacket along the way and they all followed him, Michonne in the lead with Jesus close behind. The gang silently made their way through the back side door of the church and then through the foliage toward the back street.

The night sky glowed ink blue, nearly free of clouds, as the group sauntered down the street full of empty brownstones.

* * *

 _Written to the musical score of…_

' _No Quarter', Led Zeppelin_

* * *

Heath frowned hard through his fatigue as he watched Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Daryl, and a couple of other people he barely recognized walking toward him in the dark.

He was already annoyed that he'd lost the bet with Sasha and was saddled here covering her shift.

Now some shit was about to pop off when he'd been hoping to just stand here and let his mind wander all night. Rick stalked up to him, his expression very serious, his hands in the pockets of his corduroy jacket.

His eyes gleamed as he tilted his head at Heath in the faint light. The rest of his party stood waiting behind him, eerily quiet and serious. Heath got the creeps. "Heath. How're you holdin' up?"

Heath stifled a yawn and shrugged, the rifle hanging off the strap across his shoulder making his muscles feel heavy, stiff, and sore. "I'm alright, man. Did one of y'all come to relieve me?"

Rick turned slightly to regard the shadowy figures behind him.

"Of course. I'll stay out here. You go on home, Heath. Get some rest."

Heath raised an eyebrow at the handsome young man speaking to him as though they'd known each other forever, draped in inky darkness. Paul stepped forward, an approachable, though grave expression in his pale blue eyes.

Rick nodded gratefully and gave Heath a squeeze on the shoulder as if that was that. "You should get some sleep, but talk to Sasha or Abraham if you can. We might need you tomorrow. Early."

Remembering that questions were kind of pointless with Rick Grimes (he got his way, for the most part, and you couldn't totally hate him for it), the younger Alexandrian gave them all a sleepy salute and shuffled away. Denise was still in there, but he figured she'd be safe in their hands until they were done, then they could walk her home. He was just about dead on his feet, he realized, as he walked away.

Whatever they wanted with the dirty, crazy dude in the brownstone, he would bet that his old pal Sasha (whose fault it was that he was here) would know. He made up his mind to grill her later. Bet be damned - she _owed_ him.

They all watched him go for a beat, and Rick turned back to Paul and Michonne. "Thank you. We'll try to make this quick."

Paul smirked. "Don't write a check your machete can't cash, Rick."

"Well, I _did_ say there was no torture involved." Rick rubbed his chin begrudgingly. He shrugged. "I could just put a bullet through his skull. That's not exactly torture…it's a mercy, if anythin'."

Tony swallowed thickly, completely creeped out by Rick's casual murder tactics. Paul simply left it up to Rick. "Whatever you have to do, man. I'm behind you."

The group began to make their way down to the basement steps. Rick paused to brush his fingers against Michonne's arm before she descended. She turned to face him, frowning in the dark. Paul stood by the tree in the yard, his back to them, putting on a good show of not listening.

"Why don't you hang back, baby?" Rick muttered, shifting on his feet. He sighed hard and met her gaze, clenching his jaw. He knew she would resist, but he would just have to stand his ground. This was something he couldn't compromise on. Not with her.

Michonne raised her eyebrows, her body stiffening in that familiar stance of defiance she took when she wasn't having it. " _Why?_ " She hissed, her gloved hands fisting at her sides.

Rick's nostrils flared at he met her gaze head on. "Because _I don't know what I'm gonna have to do_ , Michonne." He told her point blank. She blinked, her face softening just barely. "And I know you don't shy from what all this means for us, but right now I'm _askin'_ you...hang back for a bit." He dipped his head from side to side, gesturing with his shooting hand. "Just this once."

Michonne gazed at Rick in the dark. This was it. This was the moment.

Their romantic bliss was indeed shattered for real this time, and it was time for blood.

He was trying to spare her a jarring transition. He was trying to spare _himself_ from having to think about what his tactics might be doing to Michonne, should things get bloody. She was brave, and she was with him, she always had been - but that didn't change the fact that he loved her and her mental, emotional wellbeing were just as precious to him as that of her living, breathing body.

Understanding what he was trying to do, Michonne relented, softening under his beseeching gaze.

"Okay." She whispered finally.

Rick looked relieved, and stepped forward to kiss her tenderly, stroking her chin and jaw with his thumb when he had to pull back again. "I'll be back."

Then he left her, brushing by her to prolong their physical contact in some form for as long as possible.

When he'd gone, Michonne ambled up the yard again to stand next to Paul by the tree. He ran a hand through his short hair and bumped his shoulder against hers. "He'll get it done, Michonne. Don't worry."

"I know…" she answered, folding her arms and leaning against him. "But I'm still worried."

Inside, Rick found Daryl, Tony, and Glenn staring down at the skinny, pale, black-eyed Wolf on the floor.

He stalked into the room slowly, his hands at his sides, his eyes blank, his expression calm.

The Wolf smirked, watching the line of men watching the curvy doc change his antibiotics drip.

"Why, howdy, y'all." He sneered in a sing-song lilt. The doc was shaking. Poor thing was nervous. She didn't like being alone with him. He tried to spare her but sometimes he just couldn't help it. He liked to make her squirm.

And in walked his man with the big gun. _Ooh,_ and three others. All of them looked about ready to break every bone in his body. How funny. He knew what they wanted.

Rick gestured to Denise, gathering his patience, maintaining his calm. "When you're done, Michonne and Paul - Jesus - are outside."

The poor thing couldn't finish fast enough. She gathered her supplies like a book worm caught in the library after closing time and squeaked out of there. The Wolf - Owen was his name - chuckled quietly as he watched her go.

"Nighty-night, gorgeous. See you later." His black eyes drifted from the door where the doc had gone to the stone face of the silver and umber fox in boots and blue jeans. "She hates me…" he informed them. "But I like her a lot better than that skittery blonde." He blinked, thinking, then smiled. "I can't decide if I like your mad murderess, Miss Carol, though. She's so... _spooky_." The whites of his eyes gleamed ashen gray under the harsh work lights in the abandoned basement. "And she _did_ threaten my life, you know."

Rick shifted on his feet, letting him talk. The Wolf leaned back on his filthy tarp, getting comfy.

"She came in here earlier to inform me that your people killed two of mine this morning. Threatened to stab _me_ to death next." His grin was oddly out of place and detached from his macabre statement.

"And you told her about your sister." Rick drawled, filling in the rest of the story for him. "Persephone?"

Owen's wicked playfulness slowly disappeared. He nodded. There was silence.

Glenn watched the cryptic standoff between the two men - well, man and emaciated psycho - intensely. He would be ready to step in and back Rick up should anything go down, and he hoped Tony was paying attention.

Rick tilted his head at the kid. "You know what we want, Owen."

His eyes and expression clearly read ' _don't make me get it the hard way'_ and it both satisfied and terrified Owen. He knew he was destined to die, but he hadn't given much thought to it being whilst sick and wounded on a dirty floor - or possibly tortured to death. It would be no more than he deserved.

"Yes. And _you_ know…" he felt a tear welling up in his eye but he ignored it, and the hope that tried to cut through with it, "...that I want something in return."

Rick put his hands on his holster, leaning to the side, shrugging. "I'm all ears."

Then he looked down at his waist, where his hands were positioned on the belt. Owen's eyes fell to see the machete on one side, the gun on the other.

"But you're _gonna_ tell me the truth. Or you've got two ways to die. Slow...and brutal. Or quick, and painless. Your choice."

"Hmm...choices, choices." Owen smiled as Rick looked back up toward him. There was another long pause, and everyone watched with baited breath. Finally, Owen relented. "And you think of _us_ as the savages. You'll do anything to survive, just like us."

"Except get in bed with _Negan_." Daryl growled from behind Rick.

Owen raised his eyebrows. Surprised and not surprised that they'd realized what was coming for them.

"You told Carol that you're not the only one we should worry about. We believe you." He gestured to nothing, tilting his head further. "In fact, we're ahead of you. I know you probably recognize him from the last town you threw a welcomin' party."

Owen looked to where Rick gestured to Tony. He said nothing.

"So unless you want him to beat you to death…" Rick walked forward and knelt before Owen, close. Unafraid, his hand resting against his machete. "I'd suggest you start talkin'."

Glenn and Daryl exchanged looks at Rick's use of Tony so boldly. Tony couldn't tell how exactly he was feeling - he only knew that he was no stranger to taking lives. In exactly that fashion. He hadn't been able to stop the first time because he was good at it. It was easy then. It would be easy now. He hated the Wolves enough (and Murdock trusted Rick Grimes enough) to beat a man to death a second time if he had to.

Just like Rick said. They all needed to do their part. If they didn't shy from it, they'd come out on top.

Owen saw the certainty in each man's eyes and sighed. No sense narrowly surviving being torn limb from limb by walkers only to have it done by living men.

"Well…" he drawled, unable to resist twisting the knife just a bit, "your friend _did_ die to save me. I probably shouldn't waste his generosity." Rick ignored him, his blue eyes blazing. "There's an armory inside an outpost not far from here. It used to be a tower connected to a power plant."

They all hung on his every word as he confirmed everything Ben, Tony, and Dana had told them about the outpost with the weapons hoard inside of it.

"You help me find my sister. You help me get her back." He demanded in a dead whisper, his black eyes dark pools of cold determination. "The Wolves only want what we want. We'll follow who gets us that."

"Oh yeah? What the hell do you bastards want so bad besides some broad, huh?" Daryl stepped forward, pacing in agitation. Rick waited for Owen's answer.

"We want chaos. Disorder. And survival. Like you." He looked them all in the eyes in turn. Then, to Rick and Daryl's surprise, he soften. "And when I listen to how close all of you are? How far you're willing to go for each other? I wonder...isn't 'one broad' enough?"

They were all tempted to deny that they wanted chaos. Or that he was right about family, sacrifice, and the kindling for the fire that would ignite a long, bloody, costly war.

Perhaps, in the end, there could not be peace without chaos. Without blood. So they had to desire it, in order to sustain something worth fighting for.

Rick offered the boy his hand. "Alright. You tell us the truth, get us those weapons. Then we'll see about gettin' your sister back - and all the rest of it. Deal?"

Owen paused, watching his hand. Then he nodded, accepting it. "Deal."

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **I've come to terms with the fact that this will be a long, epic odyssey.**

 **It's my sort of homage to big time-travelers like Stephen King's 'The Stand' (not that I'm comparing).**

 **So I hope you'll bear with me because I have a whole novel of whereto's and whyfor's and whothat's!**

 **Thanks for reading and reviewing!**

 **More Richonne,** _ **more smut**_ **, more plotting, and the attack on the outpost coming up!**

 **-Kendra**


	16. family ties, part ii

_she was searching for an answer_

 _the answer was a war_

 _and there was blood_

 _and there was gore_

 _there was some ugly shit in store_

 _I headed for the door_

-'Headed for the Door', Moonface

* * *

"I don't hear any torturing going on in there. Do you?"

Michonne shook her head slowly at Paul's curious tone, and they both exchanged glances in the dark. She was thinking that it was a good sign, and it seemed her new friend agreed. They'd been standing watch outside the brownstone on the uninhabited street for maybe thirty minutes.

All that time, they said and heard nothing.

Just the slight breeze, sifting through the trees.

The occasional walkers ambling by in the pitch black beyond the walls.

Michonne's mind was running through every possible scenario, and with each passing minute she silently lost her grip on her patience. Paul could feel the tension in her body language, but he tried his best to counter it with benign, confident energy of his own. He knew Michonne had faith in Rick. But their fates were entwined, now; his burden was also hers. She wanted Rick to succeed, not just for Alexandria's salvation, but for his own as well. For their family's. Present _and_ future versions.

"That's a good sign, don't you think?" He broke the tense silence once again.

Michonne turned toward the brownstone, staring down at the faint yellow glow of the basement light escaping through the blinds on the small windows. "I think I should make sure and go check."

Without waiting for Paul's protest, Michonne was headed for the basement stairs. She didn't make it far before the door opened and Glenn emerged, followed by Tony.

"Hey." Glenn greeted, his hand resting on his holstered knife as he ascended the stairs toward her. Their eyes met under the faint moonlight breaking through the inky blue clouds above their heads. "It worked. Owen's been talking for twenty minutes, now."

Michonne let out a sigh of relief and nodded her silent thanks. "And Rick?" She asked softly, standing still as Tony and Paul huddled around her and Glenn.

Glenn held her gaze confidently. "All Rick had to do was promise to find the guy's sister. Rescue her, if she's still alive." He shrugged, shaking his head with something like disbelief patrolling through his mind. And awe. And hope. And grim acceptance. "He promised to get the rest of his people on board. The Wolves are gonna help us fight Negan, like Rick promised."

"So Owen will get us into the compound?" Paul spoke up, crossing his arms. "Get us to those weapons safely? If they spot Ben or Dana, we're fucked."

Glenn nodded to him, now. "Looks like it, yeah. It's trippin' me out, too. But the guy's gonna play ball. And you _know_ Rick will make sure he keeps his end of the deal."

"Rick has a way with words." Tony supplied matter-of-factly. "I like his style."

"And you really would've done it, then?" Glenn asked seriously, thinking back to Rick's use of their new ally so shrewdly when they first got in there. Rick may have been confident in his bluff, but Glenn wanted to make sure, for his own peace of mind.

"What are you talking about?" Michonne asked, torn between staying to grill them both on what had happened and going in to see what that Wolf was saying to Rick.

"Rick threatened to have me knock his lights out. Permanently." Tony said honestly. He paused, now turning to answer Glenn. "And with all due respect, I'm goddamned sick and tired of pissants half my size ordering me around."

Glenn bristled, leaning his head back to gauge what the hell Tony was trying to say. The weird, big as shit ex boxer smiled sarcastically.

"But if it means a chance at taking Negan out, I'll do it with a smile on this handsome mug o'mine. Like I said, I like Rick's style. He doesn't even have to say please."

Glenn couldn't tell what to make of the guy's pledge to follow Rick to hell and back so eagerly. He just settled for being glad that Tony seemed to be on their side. Although maybe a little too enthusiastically for Glenn's taste. Rick sure knew how to pick 'em. "Sure, man. Whatever. Just...keep your head on straight, alright?"

Tony winked at him, nodding. "This is Negan, we're fighting. Let's pray we _all_ keep our heads on, huh?"

"What are they talking about, now?" Michonne moved on, too distracted to focus on Tony's weird humor, or his pledge to get his hands dirty if it meant taking Negan down. Even though she agreed with him.

Everything she'd heard of Negan so far had been awful, angering, and terrifying. She wanted to get ahead of this, but right now she wanted Rick out of that room with that Wolf. She took another step toward the basement, past Glenn.

Neither Paul, Tony, or Glenn made moves to stop her. They could see that she was torn between breaking her promise to Rick and offering him her support in person.

"Finishing up." Glenn supplied, reaching a hand out. "Just twenty more minutes, I promise. Right now, Tony's here to take watch and Rick asked me to get you back home. We need to get Eugene. We have plans to make."

Michonne stared at the basement door, which was still slightly jar. She heard faint voices, but she couldn't make out what they were saying. Rick was working to get them what they needed, and Daryl was there for him. He could handle things from there, she convinced herself. Glenn was right - they had plans to make and she wanted to check on the children again.

War would keep them all on their toes emotionally, physically, and mentally before the dawn broke again.

Every hour between now and then was precious. They had a lot to discuss, and a lot to take in before all hell broke loose. They would need to execute their plan _perfectly_ if they were to succeed at getting ahead of this thing before they lost their advantage.

Michonne turned back to face the group of stoic men. She nodded and gripped her katana belt with her gloved hands, heading past them to step down onto the curb. "You're right. Let's go get Eugene."

Glenn and Paul nodded to Tony, who silently took watch by the tree, before heading to follow her back into the main part of 'town'.

Behind him, the low, serious voices of Rick and Owen continued as their prisoner - and new ally - filled the Alexandrian leader in on what he was up against.

* * *

 _(Six hours until 'Trojan Horse'...)_

Carl sat on the front porch in one of the rocking chairs, cradling Judith as he watched Ben smoking a cigarette across the street.

The tall, slender black kid was squinting around at the pristinely kept neighborhood, taking periodic drags of now his third cigarette, seemingly lost in thought. Judith gurgled and pointed out the stars to her big brother, and Carl explained what they were looking at - the North Star, the Big and Little Dipper, a way home - but he couldn't help his eyes drifting to stare at the curiously quiet young man his dad and Michonne had brought home with them.

"Ben grew up dreaming of living in a neighborhood like this…" Carl and Judith turned to discover Dana leaning against the door frame, her eyes fixed on Ben's distant figure as well. She gestured to him with her chin, crossing her arms with a small sigh. She looked sad. "He lost his whole family. His brother Bobby was the last one. Negan…"

Carl frowned as Dana closed her mouth, staring at her boyfriend with sadness and pain swimming in her pale eyes. "Sorry to hear it. Glenn and his wife Maggie lost their whole families, too. Now they're staring a new one." He found himself wanting to let her know there was always hope.

"We met her. She's really kind."

"Yeah. Her family was like that. Now she's like a big sister to me."

"You all are lucky to have each other. Your dad's a good leader. Our leader Murdock trusts him."

"Technically, _Spencer's_ our leader." Carl rolled his eyes.

"Maybe, but...nobody around here seems to buy that." Dana smiled, tearing her eyes away from Ben (who had caught them looking but decided to turn his back on their observation, still smoking) to walk out onto the porch.

"Enid's taking a shower. I think she's a little shaken up by something…" Dana said gently as she sat down next to him in the twin to his rocking chair. Carl's blue eyes slipped from her face to Judith's little hands as Dan tucked her own hands under her thighs. "It's okay. You don't have to talk about it, whatever happened to her. To you both. I get it."

Carl looked up to study her face again. Some of the pain in her eyes belonged to her own memories, not just Ben's. Recent ones, too. Negan's doing, no doubt. Carl felt bitter determination boiling inside him. Negan had to be stopped. "Somethin' happened to you, too?"

Judith reached out to play with Dana's hair. The young, quiet woman blinked back tears, watching the baby girl get her pudgy little fingers around her fine black strands. She offered Judith her arms, and the child came willingly, looking innocent and beautiful under the porch light.

"You could say that. But like I said - it's gonna be okay. Right, Judith?" Dana focused on the little girl in her arms. A stranger but still so innocent and pure, and those big, round brown eyes made her bruised heart ache for something to turn in their favor. This child gave her hope. These people did. Rick and Michonne did. "She's so beautiful...and so _smaaaarrrt_ , yes you are!"

Carl laughed at Dana's cooing, letting her play with his little sister for now. "She is. And I think it's gonna be okay, too." He offered her his earnest pledge: "Your leader made a deal with the right man. My dad's gonna put an end to Negan. I promise you."

"We believe you." Came Ben's voice from the porch steps. He had finished his cigarette and returned to the land of the living. He leaned against the railing, folding his arms together across his gray henley shirt as he watched his girlfriend play with Rick Grimes's little girl. "And we're with him. All the way."

"That's good to know." Carl said firmly, meeting Ben's gaze.

"Kids…?"

They heard Michonne calling and Carl stood up immediately, heading inside to greet her. Ben and Dana followed with Judith in towe.

* * *

Forty minutes later, after dropping Daryl off with a command to get some sleep and stopping by a few houses to make sure some of his most valuable team members were ready for their mission, Rick trudged up the road toward his home.

Like he'd done just a few nights ago - only this time he was a scant few hours shy of drawing first blood in an inevitable war.

He paused as he approached Jessie's house, seeing Sam's light on but no other sign that anyone was awake. He moved on, shaking off his old habit of concerning himself with her wellbeing.

She was Carol's problem now, he reminded himself. As much as that still unnerved him, the fact still remained that he had bigger fish to fry.

He saw his own kitchen light on as he made his way up his front porch steps. Eugene, Glenn, and Paul were inside - he could hear their voices through the open window. Making plans. Good. They didn't have time to waste. Rick wondered where Michonne was as he let himself in, slamming the door to announce his arrival.

"We're in the kitchen." Jesus called, and Rick made his way into the kitchen, trying not to let his boots drag.

He couldn't help feeling a little tired after a long drive and a long night sitting in Owen's filth while they interrogated him. Not to mention the exhausting political circus he'd had to endure at the church. He found Eugene and Glenn huddled at the kitchen table while Ben and Dana looked on, standing around them. Paul was making a fresh pot of hot water for instant coffee at the stove.

"Where's Michonne and my kids?" Rick asked first, frowning at the group.

"Upstairs." Dana answered him reassuringly. "Michonne's just putting Judith to bed. She'll be down in a minute."

Rick nodded, but decided to go and see for himself. "Keep goin'. I'll be right back. You can fill us both in, in a minute." He turned and headed upstairs without another word.

Paul's eyes rose to regard his retreating form as he set the water to boil, not surprised that Rick would want to see his family first, after what he'd just spent his last hour doing.

Glenn sighed, but turned back to the table where Eugene was laying out his plans for surviving this war. "It's okay, keep going..."

Rick climbed the stairs in search of Michonne and his children, only half listening to Eugene's dull drawl as he continued unfolding something that sounded appropriately brilliant. Rick wanted to know - but he had to see Michonne's face, first. Hear his son's voice. Touch them, hug them, be in their company again for a few minutes, alone.

He saw the master bedroom door ajar and peered inside to see Enid asleep on Michonne's bed, Judith curled up on her chest. The girl was wearing some old, oversized scrubs, looking peaceful and very young next to his little girl.

Rick lingered in the doorway, his eyes raking over Judith to make sure she was okay, sound asleep, alive and well. Then his ears picked up voices coming from Carl's bedroom next door, and he gently closed the door on the two girls so they wouldn't be disturbed. They'd worry about sleeping arrangements later.

The adults wouldn't be getting much sleep anyway, if any, before it was time to head for the outpost.

When he reached Carl's cracked bedroom door, he paused, lingering there, too. He listened.

Inside, Michonne had been sitting shoulder to shoulder with Carl on the edge of his bed as he gazed down at Andre's picture, his face partially hidden by his hair. He studied Andre's face, and Michonne studied the veil of dark, wavy hair that obscured his features from her. She couldn't look at the picture anymore. She'd be staring at it for hours if she did, letting her sorrow and regret overtake her. They didn't have time for that.

She just wanted to share it with the first person she ever told about her baby.

It meant something to her that Carl never told anyone else, even though she said it wasn't exactly a secret. It told her that he respected her as well as valued their friendship. It made her love him even more. This felt something like coming full circle, since the day he'd confessed that he wanted to save that picture from a bar full of walkers so Judith would know what her mother looked like.

Well, now he knew what Andre looked like.

After a long while of silence (in which Rick was making his way upstairs, unbeknownst to them), Carl finally handed the picture back, sniffing audibly. Michonne was touched, but not really surprised, to see that his eyes were damp.

"Thank you." He offered her a small nod, as if agreeing that heartbreak was appropriate for something like this, and that it was a gift, her showing him. Michonne would never stop marveling at this kid's maturity. His selflessness. Just like his father. "He looks happy. Smart. Was he?"

Michonne smiled and nodded, stifling her own emotions as she carefully propped the picture up on his night stand. "Yeah. He was always getting into stuff. He was trying to talk before he could even lift his head. I called him 'peanut'...because...that's what he looked like to me when he was a baby. Silly."

She stopped, and he didn't expect her to go on. He just appreciated what he got. "You know what I think?"

"What…?" Michonne breathed out a shaky sigh, turning her head to look down at her hands. She swallowed down a sob as he gently touched her shoulder, wrapping a wiry arm around her affectionately.

"I think he sent you to us." Michonne shook against him, the brave, strong boy she'd grown to love like a son. She tried to smile through her tears as he spoke to her calmly, sweetly, hugging her. "You didn't just find Glenn and Maggie, or that baby formula, for no reason. My dad was waiting for you, Michonne. So was I. So was Judith. I think...even though we lost my mom and Andre...they never stopped looking out for us. And it's because of _them_ that we ended up together. Helps me sleep at night, anyway."

Michonne did sob, now, and she wrapped both her arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He had no idea how much she appreciated hearing his words. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from her. They were her family. They were hers to keep and fight for, and they had accepted her as one of their own. And with them, Andre's loss wasn't so hard to bear.

"I think you're right, kid." She kissed his cheeks, leaning back to wipe his face and tuck his hair behind his ears so she could get a good look at him. She nodded in agreement, smiling in earnest now, her heart soothed by his kind, supportive expression. "I love you, Carl."

"I love you, too, Michonne."

They hugged again, and then they heard the sound of Rick clearing his throat from the doorway.

They both turned to see him slowly entering, his own deep blue eyes glistening with emotion. He looked tired, but determined as he stepped up to his boy and pulled him up into a bear hug.

Michonne watched father and son embrace, wiping her tears away. "I think you're right, too, son." Rick whispered, squeezing him tight before letting him go. "Why don't you join the others so you can fill us in when we get down there, alright? We'll only be another minute."

"Okay." Carl bent over to accept another kiss on the forehead from Michonne. She didn't give a damn, her emotions were going haywire. He left them alone and she laughed at Rick quietly, embarrassed for being so emotional right before a really dangerous mission.

He simply gazed at her with love in his eyes as he suddenly lay down and pulled her down on top of him on Carl's bed, kissing her fiercely. Michonne moaned against Rick's lips, giving him an opening to slide his tongue into her mouth. He stroked her cheek, lacing his fingers into her hair, kissing her with the passion of a man who was deeply in love. She felt it radiating through his body as they fit together like they were made for each other. Finally, slowly, Rick ended the kiss pressing his forehead to hers as his hands found their way to her curvy bottom.

"Let's just stay here, like this, forever…" She smiled sadly at the sound of his sad, wistful southern drawl.

"We have to earn that privilege, Rick."

He felt an intense surge of longing and anger. She was right. They would have to get their hands bloody to secure the privilege of peace and prosperity. Of a safe world to raise a family. He was going to get it for them. And then, he knew _exactly_ what he wanted.

Rick looked Michonne square in her big, brown eyes. Eyes he hoped to pass on to their son or daughter someday.

"I want you to have my child, Michonne." Rick growled with heart-stopping confidence. "When this is over, I want you to be my wife, and I wanna _re-populate this fuckin' earth with you_. If it's somethin' you want, all you hafta do is say yes, baby. I told you, I'll die to give you everythin' you deserve. I love you. Do you hear me?"

Michonne nodded, speechless. He was dead serious. Like always. Finally, she found her voice: "Yes. Feeling's mutual, Grimes. You know that."

* * *

Everyone huddled around the kitchen table with coffee, listening to Eugene explain what he called his 'Trojan Horse' plan.

"Based on Glenn's intel that our tourist Owen owes Negan the heads of Alexandria's former leaders, we're goin' in like one of the greatest Greek legends of all time. The Trojans."

"Spit it out, Eugene." Rick urged testily, gesturing with his coffee cup.

"To put it bluntly, we need to cut the heads off walkers that look like Reg and Deanna. I'm talkin' at _least_ fraternal twins, here. This is _critical_ to the mission."

Owen had found Alexandria using Aaron's photos, but not before he'd shown them to Negan's people. That delivery was supposed to be made to start the takeover, so they were going to make it the next morning, early enough to catch the Saviors off guard while they slept.

They'd send Owen in with the decoy heads and a message for Negan to gain access to the outpost - taking advantage of the distraction so they could kill everyone inside and take the weapons loot.

"We split up into three teams: Lookouts, Guns N'Ammo, and Murder Death Kills." Rick rolled his eyes at Eugene's silly names, but said nothing as he explained the rest of his plan. "Now, I am makin' a big turd of an assumption that we can get away with the same type of decoy with every outpost we hit. See, there's another decapitated head we'll need - Negan's fraternal twin, Ned."

"I'm waitin' on an explanation that makes a lick o' fuckin' sense." Rick drawled, not buying it.

Michonne simply listened, intrigued. Paul smirked, having already heard all of this, and totally buying it. They could pull this off. He had a head for theatrics, Eugene was some kind of tactical genius, and Rick was just plum crazy. Plus, he had a league of people who would follow him into war without question. They would use the Wolves to buy time bringing the rest of the communities on board, taking out outposts with decoy heads along the way. This could work if they committed to it.

"Hear him out, Rick." Glenn spoke up. He looked reluctantly impressed. "Go ahead, Eugene."

"Obliged, Glenn." Eugene cleared his throat and sat up straight, showing them the map he'd marked of all the places Owen indicated Negan had hidden outposts that he knew of. "We use Reg and Deanna's look-alike heads to fake out this _first_ outpost's guard dogs. We MDK everyone inside, then send out sentinels to gather more intel, weapons, and allies. This Wolf Owen knows what Negan looks like, so I figure we'll round up at least ten look-alikes, cut their heads off, and fake out every outpost we come across. We clean house every time. Leavin' Negan for last."

"By then, we'll have an army, Rick." Glenn agreed, sitting back in his chair to regard his leader.

"What if he sees this coming?" Michonne hedged, not truly convinced yet, though it did sound crazy enough to work. "What if he comes after Alexandria, or the Hilltop while we're out parading around with walker heads that _might_ fool some really dumb people?"

"We can make it convincing." Dana offered. "Ben and me know what he looks like, too. We know Lucille, we can make ten of them easy, with a lucky run. We _know_ Negan. Plus, we'll have their weapons and knowledge of how they operate. We'll _convince_ them. All of them."

"Yeah. We will." Ben agreed. "And besides, we only have to do it long enough to get in. Then we make sure no one lives to tell. _No one_ can come out of any of this alive. Like you said, Rick. We kill them all."

Rick eyed the dead look of cold intent in the young man's eyes and found the reality of their situation settling on his shoulders like a large, heavy weight.

"You sure you're up for that?" He asked. "We won't all make it back home. You know that."

Ben swallowed hard, nodding. Dana nodded, too. "We're sure." She answered for them.

After a moment, they moved on.

"Either way, that doesn't help protect the people we're leavin' behind." Rick looked down at the map covering the table. "What are we doin' to keep them safe while we try out this 'Trojan Horse' thing?"

Also marked on the map were their four communities - plus one other. It was marked 'The Kingdom'.

Eugene spoke up again. "Jesus, uhh, _Paul_ tells us there's another community. One that's been largely kept a secret. A condition the leader of this place managed to finagle outta Negan. That makes him pretty persuasive, and a pretty powerful ally if Paul isn't blowin' smoke up all our asses."

"That hurts my feelings, Eugene." Paul said, winking at the nerdy fellow.

Rick and Michonne exchanged looks, then turned to their cunning new 'friend'. "What the hell is The Kingdom?"

"And why didn't you tell us about it?" Michonne asked quietly, finishing Rick's thought, crossing her arms as she glared at Jesus or Paul or whatever the hell his name was today.

Paul sighed patiently, meeting their gazes without pretense. "No one speaks of The Kingdom. Of us all, King Ezekiel was the only one who managed to get something out of Negan in return for indentured servitude." He gestured to the spot on the map, hidden from all of the main roads, in an area surrounded by the dead and miles and miles of cars jammed bumper-to-bumper. "He gets to keep his community a secret, even sort of protected by Negan from other enemies. He has the most of us to offer...and he has the strongest defenses of us all."

Rick found himself filling with frustration. He did not like the sound of this 'King'. And he _really_ did not like being taken by surprise like this. Neither did Michonne. The table watched in tense silence as the couple processed this new information.

"Well, why didn't you go to Ezekiel to help you in the first place?" Carl spoke up, agreeing with his father's skepticism. "If he's got so much going for him, why is he giving Negan what he wants?"

Paul lowered his gaze for once, thinking. "He's...not exactly convinced that we should fight this. He's strong, but he's outnumbered, just like us. He thinks it's safer to keep trading." He shrugged sadly, but leaned forward with more conviction this time. "He may take some convincing to help us fight, but he _will_ help protect our weakest. Despite his reluctance for battle, he is a kind hearted man. He wouldn't turn away people who need his protection. And he is capable of hiding them, for as long as we may need."

"Plus, word is that he owns a real live tiger, and that is just badass." Eugene added, as if that helped.

"Then what?" Rick asked, thinking. Considering. Weighing his options in his beleaguered mind.

"We clear a path and set up camp through those empty outposts, fake transmissions so no one's the wiser." Eugene remarked proudly. "Use their vehicles. Move at night. Try to keep the decoy scheme runnin' until every man, woman, and child is evacuated to the hidden Kingdom, right under Negan's nose." He turned to look at Michonne. "Sort of like the Underground Railroad, if you follow me."

Michonne rolled her eyes. "Don't push it, Eugene. You like your mullet, right?"

Eugene gulped at the thought of losing his hair to her sword, but frowned because she didn't seem to appreciate the genius of his reference.

"I can take them." Carl said suddenly, staring at the path on the map. Rick glared down at him, startled. Carl looked up finally to meet his father's gaze. "If you guys are going out to fight, and get other communities on our side, then _I_ can be in charge of evacuating the rest of us."

"When this is done, I'll make sure Murdock and Lizzy know to see to the Hilltop. They can hold down the fort until we're ready." Paul added, smiling appreciatively - even proudly - at Carl. Then he looked to Glenn. "We can get Maggie and the others to safety, in case Negan or his people come looking before we get to him. Then I'll go and appeal to the King. You can help, Glenn."

"This is fucking _mental_. But...it _could_ work, Rick." Glenn looked to Rick and Michonne, now, as did everyone else. It was time for a decision.

"I can do this, dad." Carl insisted. "You're gonna need all the help you can get."

"We'll all help." Ben agreed. "Whatever you need, Rick."

Before Rick gave an answer, there was series of swift, hard knocks on the door. "Rick? Michonne? It's Carol, open up."

* * *

Carol had stopped by to inform them that the community was behind them for the most part.

"Some of them are scared, of course. But I think they all know who the _real_ leader is, between you and Spencer." She told Rick quietly in the foyer. She crossed her arms and looked up at him, trying to gauge what he was thinking. He had told her about Eugene's plan. "You think this is gonna work?"

"You think we have a choice, all of a sudden?" Rick answered, eyeing her with equal scrutiny.

She shook her head, blinking slowly. "No. I don't. It's just...that means a lot of people die, Rick."

"You keep remindin' me of that." Rick furrowed his brow at her, tilting his head. He sometimes didn't recognize the woman standing before him. Where did Sophia's mother go? "That thought's never gonna leave me, Carol. Don't worry. I'm dealin' with it. Are _you?_ _Really?_ 'Cause I'm startin' to think you're sayin' it to remind _yourself_ what you're gamblin' with, not me. People's lives."

Carol felt a cold chill run through her as he glared at her, searching her face for signs that she understood what he was trying to say to her. This was her only warning. He loved her, and he was grateful for all she'd done for them, but he would not hesitate to do what he'd done before if she crossed a line and went rogue again. He'd finally come to terms with that. By the looks of it, so had she.

What he didn't know, what she couldn't tell him now, was that it was a risk she was willing to take. "We don't need loose ends." She said to him as a final answer. "So don't worry about them, as long as I'm around. Alright?"

"You mean like Jessie and Spencer?" He got real close to her, daring her to lie to him. "Like _Owen?_ "

Carol smiled sadly. "Spencer isn't a problem...yet. He'd be stupid to stand in our way. Anyway, he's too weak to come up with anything that won't get him killed, and too much of a coward to risk his own neck." Her smile brightened. She patted him on the chest maternally, as if it was all just water under the bridge and he was being silly. "And when I'm finished with her, Jessie will be an asset instead of a pain in your ass. Like you wanted. You gave me the job. Let me handle it." She didn't mention Owen.

"Tread carefully, Carol."

"Understood."

Rick's leg bounced anxiously, but eventually he nodded curtly and gestured for her to return to the kitchen with him. "Alright - we've got ourselves a plan, then. And we've only got just under three hours until we move out, so I suggest we use it wisely."

Relieved, everyone took that as their cue to disperse and get ready to go. The group all filed out, Eugene bringing up the rear. "There's one more thing, boss."

Rick rubbed his face, gathering his patience. "What is it?"

"Well...if you don't mind me sayin' so, we don't stand a snowball's chance in hell if we can't keep ourselves armed and stocked up on bullets. That's _way_ long term, not just while we're fightin' Negan."

"I know, Eugene."

"I think I have a solution for that, sir."

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Tell me."

"Speakin' plainly...I know how we can manufacture bullets. Every type you can imagine. And I mean a _hell of alot_ of 'em."

Rick surprised Eugene with a smile.


	17. the trojan horse, part i

**A/N:**

 **Just want to give a big shout out to IsisNicole, a talented new writer who inspired me to get off my ass and update my first baby, Bad Thangs. I read her epic Richonne + Heroic!Carl fic,** ' _ **Sirens of the ZA'**_ **while on vacation, and it was just so good! Each chapter got better and better and more intense! I suggest you guys all check it out if you haven't already! The concept is excellent and the OCs are amazing. The mention of Patsy Cline is dedicated to you, Isis, for not making me hate Merle's guts completely :)**

* * *

 _warm shadow_

 _what you got in store for me?_

 _keep those eyes closed, next to me_

' _cause I don't want another day to break_

 _take our, steal our night away_

-'Warm Shadow', Fink (Dactyl Remix)

* * *

"Rick."

Rick and Michonne were sound asleep, curled up on the couch. Upstairs, the children were sleeping next to each other on Michonne's bed. They had only been slumbering for maybe an hour, after getting everyone up to speed on what they had to do upon the approaching dawn.

Now Paul's gentle voice disturbed the quiet in their large family home at the edge of Alexandria.

Clouds were starting to show, along with the slowly gathering light in the distance. They needed to get moving so they could spend the day hunting walker twins, or whatever the hell Eugene had called them.

Rick kept his eyes closed a few seconds longer, holding onto Michonne's warmth and softness, holding on to the relative safety of her embrace. He'd woken up the instant he heard Paul's voice; he'd been waiting for it. Dreading it, somewhat. Now he was here, hovering over them.

"Rick. Michonne." Jesus tried again, not wishing to disturb them any more than they wished to be disturbed.

Michonne stirred first, blinking awake and letting a long, slow breath escape her against Rick's neck. He swallowed, squeezing her tight one more time before opening his eyes, too.

"We're up." He answered, letting Michonne go so she could sit up, dragging her thick spools of dark hair out of her face.

Paul backed away to let them gather themselves. A few minutes later they were all armed and ready, heading silently out into the damp, chilly early morning gloom, single file.

Inside, upstairs, Carl opened his eyes and stared over Enid and Judith's heads, out through Michonne's window. He got up, careful not to disturb them, and walked over to it. Looking down, he saw his father, Michonne, Paul, Dana, and Ben walking grimly down the hill in the street...walking into war.

He stared at the back of his dad's curly brown head, watching him turn to take hold of Michonne's hand, pulling his out of the pocket of his brown corduroy jacket. His greying beard disappeared behind the shearling collar as he said something to Michonne that Carl couldn't make out. Michonne sent one glance back toward the house, but otherwise nodded and walked on.

He prayed he'd see his father and Michonne again, remembering what Rick had asked of him before they all went to sleep. Carl would keep his word. Even if he had to die to do it.

They were alike in that way, father and son.

Carl made his way downstairs when they eventually disappeared, wanting to stand outside to watch the sun rise on the front porch with some coffee. As he scanned the street, he noticed Spencer slipping out of Jessie's house, still putting his shirt on. Jessie followed behind him. No sign of Sam.

No doubt Spencer was gonna try one last time to stick his nose in it. Or maybe he was finally gonna offer his support. Jessie seemed like she was on board last night. Maybe she had convinced him.

Carl would need to keep an eye on him, though, like his father asked. Stop him from doing something stupid if needs be.

The young Grimes frowned, watching them go. He decided to go and check on Sam.

* * *

 _(Two hours until 'Trojan Horse'...)_

Jessie was sitting on her couch in the dark, staring off into space, listening to Sam's record playing softly - repetively - upstairs.

The minutes ticked by. The record stopped. Turned over. Started again.

She was trying to think of something to do, some way to prove herself. She didn't want to be left behind.

She wanted to protect Sam, but something told her she needed to really see what the world was like beyond these walls. Carol was right, forcing her to stand guard outside while she gathered fucking acorns for those god awful cookies, forcing her to hang around with Denise learning how to administer medicine and change an IV. Forcing her to play nursemaid to the creepy, wiry, black-eyed man in the basement of that brownstone. All of that was probably necessary, but it wasn't enough. There was no way she could protect Sam when this war really came down on their heads, not like this. She was still so weak. And she was still crazy. And she was still in love with Rick. Deep down, she couldn't escape it as the walls closed in on her and that damned record kept going for the umpteenth time.

Along with it, the sounds of each dart that Sam threw, _thumping_ into the board he'd hung. Practicing for Carl. All day and night, he'd been practicing. She couldn't decide if this was good or bad or...nothing new. She'd just have to wait and see. She had hope. She still, somehow, had hope.

Someone rang her doorbell.

The record didn't stop, but the thumping darts paused.

Jessie stood up slowly and drifted into the foyer to answer it. She only vaguely wondered who it could be.

When she reached the door and opened it, she frowned at the sight of Spencer standing there, looking cute but vexed. She briefly hoped that he had come to take her to bed again, she felt so lonely and he had come out of nowhere before. She chose not to believe it was Carol's doing, though it certainly seemed to be Carol's _will_.

Jessie stepped back to let him in without a word. She felt sick to her stomach that she had so willingly been steered so deeply into Carol's web of deception. But it was too late now. She had to do what she had to do.

"We need to talk." Spencer said as he stalked past her. He went into the kitchen, eyeing the pan of burnt acorn and beet cookies that Carol had tried to teach Jessie how to bake.

Jessie rolled her eyes, shoving her bangs out of her face as she folded her arms across her chest, embarrassed that she had even fucked that up. "What is it, Spencer? If it's about what happened at the church, I think you should just let it go."

Spencer scoffed, turning around to face her. He put his hands on his slender hips. He was younger than her, but she didn't act her age sometimes. She still had a crush on Rick Grimes, apparently. Trying not to let it bruise his ego (and failing), Spencer launched right into the real reason he was here. Grimes could wait. For now.

"What the hell are you and Carol up to?" He demanded, making her blanche.

" _What?_ " She squinted at him incredulously.

The sound of Patsy Cline's ' _Crazy'_ wafted down to them, on its fifth straight rotation, setting Jessie's teeth on edge. The dart thumping also resumed as she continued to glare at Spencer, refusing to give him whatever the hell he expected her to confess.

"I don't know what you're talking about." She muttered, shaking her head. She hugged herself, now.

Spencer was impressed that she had the gall to deny it. "Bullshit." He barked, taking two long strides across the room to close the distance between them. "You beg her to train you and now you're both the only two people besides Rick who gets anywhere near that Wolf? _Owen?_ "

He was leaning into her, now, imposing his much larger frame all over her personal space. He had her backed against the wall, trapping her as he rested his hands at the end of his long arms against its cool surface.

"You spend a couple of days treating his wounds and making nice, and all of a sudden Rick is trusting this dude with all of our lives? You _don't_ think that's fucked up?"

"Spencer…" she tried, but he cut her off.

"And what was that scene in the church? You made such a big show of backing up Rick's _maniac_ plan! What the hell is going on, Jessie?"

" _You're_ the one who caused all the drama, Spencer." Jessie hissed, glaring right back at him. "Grow up!" She pushed away from him, ducking under his arms to put some distance between them again.

"Oh, real nice. I thought I could trust you. I thought you were on _my_ side."

"You know Rick is right. This isn't about sides!" Jessie unleashed, wheeling around on him. Patsy crooned down to them about how crazy she was to love a man who didn't love her in return. "Don't you get it? We fight, or we _die_." She beseeched him, letting him see how scared she was. "I have to think about my son. Everyone around here thinks I'm weak, and Carol's the _only_ one willing to help me. No one tells me _shit_. Okay? I can't even bake fucking cookies."

Spencer gazed at her, softening after a moment in which they listened to Sam's target practice and Patsy's crooning against their will.

"No one trusts me with shit, either." He said glumly, scratching his stubbly chin. "And _I'm_ supposed to be the leader of this place."

He was beginning to feel like he'd been suckered. It made him angry, and sad.

And lonely.

His eyes rose again to meet Jessie's, and her heart fluttered. She let her anger slip away, too.

"You have to be brave to lead, Spencer." She offered him quietly. "That means you have to listen when someone's telling you what's right. You _know_ Rick is right."

"Do you still have feelings for him?" He asked, walking toward her again, ignoring her advice.

She lied. "No. I don't even know if I ever really did."

He didn't know whether he trusted that, but at the moment he didn't care. She was a warm, sympathetic body, for now. "Do you...have feelings for me?"

Jessie considered him. She told the truth. Most of it. "I care about you, Spencer."

He sighed, appreciating her for telling him what he needed to hear. At least, this part. He figured he could get Carol's plan out of her another way. "Then come here, will ya?"

Jessie came willingly.

Upstairs, Sam continued to practice and listen to Patsy.

* * *

 _(Monroe house, just before strike out)_

Spencer leaned against the wall in the living room. Everyone else surrounded Rick while he laid out their attack plan with Eugene.

Jessie stood next to Carol, taking it all in.

This was going to be a quick, brutal, bloody fight to the death, for all parties involved. Chills ripped through her and she felt the hollow queasiness of fear begin in her stomach. She tried to ignore it and pay attention. They all did, staring down at Eugene's maps and diagrams in steely silence as he explained what needed to go down in order to call this a successful mission.

Team Murder Death Kill would be Rick, Michonne, Glenn, Daryl, Heath, Rosita and Ben. While they were seeing to that, Team Guns N'Ammo would be Sasha, Abraham, Tony, Dana and Aaron. Their 'front of house' Lookouts would be Tara and Paul (in disguise of course), while their 'back of house' lookouts would be Carol...and Jessie. Everyone looked slightly surprised when Carol volunteered herself and Jessie to defend the back perimeter, but Rick said nothing. He simply clenched his jaw and nodded, staring at Carol. Jessie tried to put on a brave face.

She was getting what she wanted. She had better suck it the fuck up.

Everyone had their assignments, now, and everyone knew the plan. They'd send Owen in with the heads (once they secured them), then they would slip in quick and quiet.

"It's knives and skulls first, as much as we can…" Rick instructed them. "The rest'll be sleepin', and we need to maintain that advantage for as long as possible."

Once they got in, Dana would lead them to the armory and Rick would lead the charge in killing all the others. Everything else was scavenge or kill. Finally, their real leader addressed Spencer.

"This place will be patrolled by all our best backups while we're gone." Rick said to him calmly, confidently "Carl knows the new shift changes. We need to switch things up. You lay low during the day, _everyone_ keeps their eyes peeled, you run drills at night so you're ready for anything. Think you can handle that?"

Spencer hesitated, truthfully still itching for a fight, but he decided not to show his hand just yet. He could wait. "Yeah. Don't worry, Rick. I'll protect this place while you're out using my parents as decoys to save the day."

Rick titled his head, shoving his hands into his jacket. "I _know_ you will. You don't have a choice."

He thought to himself, but wouldn't say aloud... _and Carl knows what to do if you fuck it up._

Sniffing for the chill seeping in through the open windows, he let his gaze fall on his family. "Sun's comin' up soon. Let's go."

Rick stepped over Eugene's maps and past Spencer, out through the front door, leading the group out to their cars parked in the street.

* * *

They were loading up the R.V. and Glenn's Bronco.

Rick stood back, watching Carol give Jessie some whispered instructions before having her get into the back of the Bronco with Tara.

As soon as Jessie was inside, Carol's silver-blue eyes found Rick's river deep ones, and she came to him without a word. Rick watched her coming, trying to quell the rise of frustration and suspicion threatening to distract him from focusing on their very important mission.

Michonne was loading the R.V. with Glenn, Dana, and Heath, but she couldn't help glancing over at them every now and then. She'd promised herself she'd leave Rick to handle Carol the way he deemed necessary, for now.

Rick shifted on his feet, hooking a thumb under the strap carrying his rifle against his shoulder.

"Why is she here, Carol?" He shook his head. "Help me understand."

Carol rolled her eyes, and he clenched his jaw, warning her with his body language that now wasn't the time to lecture him. His long time fellow survivor, family member and confidant sighed. "Put yourself in her shoes, Rick. She's got one child left, and she's trying to protect him."

Rick let his resistance flow out through his nostrils, trying not say what he was really thinking. That Jessie was unstable, and a risk he couldn't believe Carol was willing to take on. Deep down, he hated himself for having so little faith in Jessie.

"You're tryin' to teach her somethin', I get it." He looked Carol in the eyes, relaxing his stance a hair's breadth. "But you know what the risks are. She's my responsibility while we're out there, and I don't fuckin' like it. She should _not_ be here. I'm startin' to wonder if _you_ should, either."

"Wow, way to have my back, boss."

"You mean to tell me you'd have taken her on if she hadn't twisted our arms during a meeting?"

Carol huffed, seeing that they were attracting an audience. "I _meant_ what I said last night." She snapped, crossing her arms and glaring up at him. "You don't have to worry. Let me handle this. She isn't your problem anymore, Rick."

"Bringing her here _makes_ her my problem." He growled, clenching his free hand into a fist at his side. He put his foot down. "I want to trust your judgement, Carol, but right now I can't make heads or tails of it."

"Carol will keep an eye on her. Protect her. They'll stay back, far away from the action." Michonne was there suddenly, standing next to Carol, gazing at Rick reassuringly.

Carol lowered her eyes, deferring to Michonne's assessment silently. So did Rick, though he didn't look happy about it. They all knew that they needed their best people inside, but they _also_ needed the eyes and guns in the back. So the whole place was covered.

"We have to focus, now. We have _one_ shot at this. Carol and Jessie can take care of themselves. Okay?"

After a moment of silent tension, Rick finally nodded.

Paul, Daryl, and Tony appeared escorting Owen, who was cleaned up in fresh clothes they'd scavenged a while back, but still bound by the wrists. They tied him up inside the R.V. where everyone could see him.

It seemed that everyone had shit on their minds as they finished loading up.

Rosita looked paler and more withdrawn than usual, her army cap tugged low over her eyes. Any glimpse one got of them revealed that they were red-rimmed from crying. Abraham and Sasha were also stoic and silent as they packed what weapons they could spare from their diminished armory. Abe intent on fucking some shit up proper tonight. Sasha grappling with her feelings about his confession this morning that he intended to return to the Hilltop when they were done at the outpost and the evacuation. Alone.

Ben and Dana observed everyone's moods while they processed their private mission - to kill as many of the Saviors as they could, including Tito. Both for their own reasons. Neither could share their thoughts with the other. It was too painful. So they focused on satisfying their rage.

Glenn thought about what he was about to go do. Kill a bunch of people he didn't even know. While they slept, probably. In the name of his family's survival. He longed for Maggie, and an end to this already, even though the shit hadn't even gotten started yet. Jessie prayed and tried to ignore the urge to bolt from the car for her home and her son. Carol kept her mind like a steel trap. She didn't want to kill. But she would, if she had to. She hoped Jessie was prepared for this.

They finally left the walls of Alexandria behind, headed out toward the abandoned satellite outpost.

* * *

 _(Just past dawn…)_

Halfway between Alexandria and the outpost, some ways off the beaten path, they stopped to hunt for walker look-alikes.

Rick had been tense and silent as they made their way out here. Michonne watched him with concern while they went over the plan again with Paul and the others a few times.

Now they were parked and spread out into teams, hunting for walkers that could somehow pass for Deanna, Reg, or Negan. Ben, Dana, Tony and Owen supplied the description, which Paul confirmed. The guy sounded like a real jackass, and Heath's sketch of him only confirmed it for Rick.

Their main priority this morning, however, was Deanna and Reg. After the herd passed through, they'd buried Deanna with her husband after finding her wandering around beyond the walls.

No one had any desire to desecrate their graves. So they were all going to trek through the woods all day long if they had to, on the hunt for heads to chop off.

Michonne moved stealthily, gracefully, keeping her eyes peeled and her hand on her katana - while Rick stomped. Huffed. Puffed. Grumbled.

After about two hours of no luck and every scrap of her patience, Michonne finally stopped to turn and face him defiantly. Rick lowered his pistol, clenching his jaw, already knowing that she was fed up with him. "You have to trust Carol, Rick."

He wanted to protest, but stopped himself as she stepped up to him. He looked around at everything but her for a moment, not wishing to be swayed like the wind, yet again.

"She's not actin' like herself, Michonne." He tried to argue, but he was only met with her shrug. "There's somethin' going on with her, I just can't figure out what."

"She doesn't want to kill." Finally, Rick met her gaze. "I think I get it. Can you blame her?"

"This was _her_ idea - all of this - attack first, torture, do whatever it takes to get this fuckin' guy." He growled.

"I know. But it's _ours_ , too. It's our _choice_." She sighed, touching him, trying to calm him, get him to let it go and focus. This tension was a huge distraction they didn't need. "We fight or we die. Maybe Carol's training Jessie because she feels like she needs to. To make this all worth it, all the killing."

"She considers Jessie a loose end." Rick countered, not wishing to shatter their belief that the old Carol still existed. But he thought it was time to come to terms with the fact that the woman who washed and ironed his shirts and mothered every kid they met was long gone.

"So maybe, instead of leaving her that way, we should let Carol turn her into an asset." Michonne wanted to end this, now. No more talk of Jessie Anderson. Carol was giving them a gift and they were going to take it. "In the meantime...how about I make you a deal?"

Rick tilted his head down at her, still tense, but softening to her will.

"Why don't we get a head start on the road to the next outpost after this, just you and me?" Her face looked radiant with hope as she smiled up at him, poking a finger in his chest. "Let Jesus and Glenn handle Murdock and the 'King' for now? Clear our heads of a few days?"

He considered her. If Owen held up his end and Eugene's fake out scheme worked, they'd buy themselves a few days to start putting the other parts of their plan into action. Originally, Rick had wanted to accompany Paul and Glenn to the Kingdom to help shore up Ezekiel's alliance himself.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Paul or Glenn, but there was too much at stake not to be there to back them up should things go sour, for whatever reason.

But now...the look in Michonne's eyes was swaying him in another direction. "A few days, huh?"

She smiled wider, reaching up on her tiptoes to kiss his lips. "Yeah. They can join us when they're done, we get these Bill and Sam guys to join us too, and start phase three."

Rick nodded along, more and more convinced. They had every man they could spare on this. And more would be joining them, if everyone held up their end of things. He and Michonne didn't need to babysit Paul and Glenn. The others, either. They could make their way to the coast together, alone, hopefully collecting weapons and taking out a couple of outposts along the way to securing the allies that were the farthest away from here.

Then they'd use their series of stolen outposts and vehicles to sneak an army back toward Negan, sneak their weakest to a safe haven, and end this war for good.

"Alright. A few days, then." Rick finally drawled in agreement. "Just you and me."

As if her confidence was contagious, Rick felt his tension easing away as they continued their hunt. And luck shined on them twice - first they found three female walkers who could pass for Deanna ambling about aimlessly. Then a fourth male walker who looked enough like Reg to turn back and see what the others had come up with.

* * *

Daryl, Owen, Tony, Paul and Rick stood observing a line of walker heads that were supposed to resemble Alexandria's former leader, Reg.

They had already chosen their Deanna. Michonne and Carol had taken care of it, sealing it in burlap and storing it in the Bronco.

They hadn't found any Negans yet, but they didn't need any for this first mission.

Now they just needed to figure out their Reg conundrum. All three of these were close, but not quite a match. Rick stared at them, listening to Paul reason with himself on the middle head. "This one's the freshest. More convincing that way. I could cut the hair...put some eyeglasses on it?"

"Why the hell would he still be wearin' his glasses, man?" Daryl grumbled.

Paul rolled his eyes at Daryl, folding his arms in exasperation. "Do you have a better idea? Or would you like to spend more time searching those woods?"

Rick ignored them, kneeling to pick up the middle head by the hair. Everyone watched as Rick held it up in front of him, twisting it this way and that. It was the closest. Except one thing. He reared back and let loose - punching the head in the face a few times, breaking the poor fucker's nose. Everyone watched, speechless.

Rick tilted his own head, getting a good look at his handiwork. He shrugged and put the head back down.

"He resisted, you had to beat him to death, broke his nose in the process." He turned to look up at Owen, who merely grinned darkly. "Yeah. They'll believe that, comin' from you."

When he stood up, he found Tony and Jesus gaping at him appreciatively. Even reverently.

"What?"

Tony shook his head slowly. "I always thought the Saviors were brutal, but _you_? You scare the hell outta me."

"I, for one, am _very_ entertained…" Paul added, grinning right along with Owen.

* * *

They were nearing the outpost.

A few miles to go.

The sky was dark again, as a full day and then some had passed while they made their final preparations for this and took their small caravan through a long, secluded route.

Glenn and Tara drove Paul, Carol and Jessie in front of them in the Bronco.

Abraham drove the R.V. with Tony riding shotgun.

The rest of their party was crammed into the general area of the R.V., listening to Ben and Dana describe what it was like being under Negan's rule. As one last reminder of why they were doing this.

"He kills for sport. To prove a point. As a punchline to a joke." Dana scoffed, staring at her hands, her eyes unfocused. "Because he doesn't like the look on someone's face…"

Both she and Ben were remembering Bobby. Tony looked on, silent and somber.

"He collects the strongest from each group." Ben informed them. "That's why Jesus hid his abilities. He tries to get them to join them. Tortures them. Breaks them. Some of them don't make it. Some of them change."

"What about women?" Sasha asked. "Children?"

"Even the women." Dana looked her flatly in the eyes. Rosita, Sasha, and Michonne listened intensely. "They all convince themselves they're just doing what they have to to survive, but...I've seen them. They're dead inside. They turn a blind eye. They help him." She glared at Michonne, now. "They'd have to _kill_ me."

"They almost did…" Ben muttered, anger boiling inside him, threatening to cascade outward. He wanted to kill something. He wanted Negan's head, for real.

"There really aren't any children around, at least none that I've seen." Dana added, wiping her eyes. "Negan has a harem, but, mysteriously, no pregnancies. At least, none that have been carried to term."

"God…" Michonne suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

She found Rick's eyes. He looked furious. Murderous.

"Oh yeah." Tony nodded to confirm. "It gets worse. Much worse. Guy's a modern day Caligula."

No one laughed at his joke.

"So...whatever guilt you guys think you're feeling about what we have to do today? Don't bother." Dana added, looking at them all in turn as the camper bumped and rolled along in the middle of the night. Her grey eyes were as clear as glass, filled with cold hatred. "Trust us. _They all deserve to die._ "

The light in the camper seemed to get darker, the mood becoming grim and so serious that all anyone could do was sit and stare at nothing. They let Dana's words wash over them as the family steadily made their way closer to conducting a midnight massacre.

After a while of silence, Rick turned and made his way to the back nook, where their prisoner Owen sat tied and bound, his eyes closed as if he was meditating.

Rick stopped in the doorway, staring down at him.

Finally, Owen opened his eyes.

"Almost there." Rick informed him expectantly.

"You're worried I'm going to cut and run, Rick?" Owen sang in a low, calm voice.

The Alexandrian leader shook his head, looming over the wiry Wolf. He looked dark, intimidating, and swallowed in shadow to Owen. _The_ _ **spooookiest**_ _gunslinger of them all_ , he thought nonsensically in his twisted mind. He believed every word everyone had been saying about Rick Grimes all day and night. If there was any man who could out-monster the monster, it was this man.

"Not worried, no." Rick drawled, now, his midnight blue eyes gleaming in the dark. "I'll be disappointed, but Daryl will just have to track you and your people down so we can kill you. Slowly...brutally. Like I promised."

Rick crouched in the doorway, removing his hands from his pockets to balance on his thighs, bringing himself just at eye level with Owen, black eyes to indigo eyes.

"And if your sister is workin' with Negan. Persephone?" He paused, letting Owen hang on his words, his body stiffening visibly, even in the absence of sunlight. "She'll get what's comin' to her, too. I promise you that."

" _Savage…_ " Owen snarled, leering.

Rick leaned forward, never taking his gaze from the Wolf's. " _You. Have. No. Fuckin'._ _ **Idea.**_ "

Owen simply nodded that he understood. "I think I do."

He liked Rick Grimes. For now.

In what seemed like no time, they were coming to a stop. The outpost was just visible on the horizon.

It was show time.

* * *

 **Next:**

 **The attack on the outpost.**

 **Carol and Jessie find themselves in the hands of the Saviors.**

 **Both women have to make a sacrifice in order to give the others a chance to win the war.**

 **Two unlikely allies partner up on a suicide mission.**

 **The Family splits up to carry out their bold plan.**

 **Rick and Michonne take 'a few days' to clear their heads while they make their way to the coast.**

 **We check in on Maggie, Murdock, and Lizzy.**

 **The Kingdom.**

 **Bill, Sam, Eric, and a new crop of allies.**

 **Negan comes knocking at Alexandria's gate, and both Carl and Spencer are put to the test.**

 **As always, you'll find a link to the soundtrack and inspirational visuals on my tumblr.**

 **THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE AND ALL YOUR AMAZING REVIEWS! MORE UPDATES COMING SOON!**

 **-Kendra**


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